


Dumb Damn Luck

by BenLMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13 year-old Castiel, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Bully Jo, Daddy Issues, Family Drama, Grooming, M/M, Mommy Issues, New Kid Castiel, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-29 04:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 23
Words: 28,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17800748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: Awkward 13-year-old Castiel just wants to know what happened to his mother.While she’s gone, can he trust his strange, wealthy (and until recently estranged) father? Or must Castiel rely on the kindness of an impetuous, alluring stranger? After all, Dean Winchester is only 18. Someone so young and beautiful couldn't possibly be dangerous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Extra special thanks to AzrielRose and Steeleye1 for brilliant beta work and giving a hoot.
> 
> Azriel’s fic The Whipping Boy has definitely been an inspiration for this one. If you haven’t read it, do.

[ ](https://imgur.com/g4GTln3)

Castiel’s mom used to say that blood is made of water, wine, and dirt. Blood binds him to the man behind him hovering like a shadow.

The silent scrutiny burrows under Cas’ skin, makes him fidgety. He taps his fork on the counter and waits for the microwave to finish humming. Just as quickly, he stops the noise. It’s probably annoying.

Usually, Cas spies his host in distant glimpses through a window: shirtless and digging. Right now, though, he’s near enough to smell the damp warmth of a recent shower.

The man’s shoes shine like midnight oil. Castiel should brave the grimly striking face and say, “Thank you,” again.

Instead, his toes wiggle in the pristine Jordans - worth a beatdown in his neighborhood. Back there, no one ever wasted a punch on Castiel’s clothes. Here, the unworn fabric itches, but it’s better than cramming his shoulders into a second-hand shirt with a dinosaur on it. If it was still up to his mom, Cas would be wearing hand-me-downs from her boss’ fifth grader.

Castiel steals a glance and silently tests a few questions:

How was your day? (One of his mother’s classics)

Have you already eaten?

Have I already screwed this up?

Rather than speak out of turn, Cas watches the tray rotate until the microwave beeps. Then, he retrieves his dinner: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas (gravy in a separate packet). Castiel’s last meal was school lunch and his tongue is bathed in saliva. He’s already scarfing down a piping mouthful of fresh-nuked goodness when he remembers the Rules.

The man’s pained inhale reminds Castiel to check the list on the fridge.

#3. Sit While Eating.

The only rule with Castiel’s mom was Use Common Sense. When your one parent has three jobs, intuition tells you not to open the door to strangers or burn down the place. Castiel even kept the apartment tidy, because his mom certainly didn’t.

Arriving at Roman Manor was like waking in a dream. The first time Castiel saw this place his eyes swelled, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, heart fluttered as if he’d stepped down from a pumpkin coach. Only instead of Prince Charming, Castiel’s father reigned over the castle.

Castiel’s father who his mother had never mentioned before. Not once.

Inside, the manor is more like a museum, with its vaulted ceilings, dark wood and old expensive-looking stuff that might break if Cas sneezes. The air oozes fake citrus and mold, but Castiel doesn’t complain. He also doesn’t snoop, twisting the knobs on all the locked doors.

Okay. He’s only done that once.

Even with all the questions tormenting him, Castiel waits. And he wonders about the man.

Dick Roman. His dad. The silver lining on this insane monsoon.

He looks young to be a father, which should be cool. But instead of a skateboard ramp in the yard, it’s haunted by a mob of angry, bone-white statues.

Castiel could be wrong. People always peg him younger than thirteen. Maybe looking young is a family thing. A Roman thing.

Maybe the rules are, too. The lists in the kitchen, his bedroom and bathroom.  

# 7. Say Grace.

It’s weird, but at every meal, Castiel sits, shrugs, and says, “Grace.”

Castiel's father watches him guide the fork to his mouth. Cas hums in appreciation as if his father prepared the meal (and not the good people of Stouffer’s).

Cas mom always said, “Gratitude is an Attitude.”

There’s a lot to be grateful for. Some fathers deny their kids or run off. Half the kids in Cas’ neighborhood never even meet their dad. That had been Cas’ story and no big deal. Then, like fairytale magic, Dick Roman materialized. Now, even if the man kicks him out someday, Castiel will know they both have dark hair and young faces.

His father’s thin lips draw into a tighter line as he hovers at the kitchen door, squeezing the life out of an innocent rag.

Cas swallows and asks, “So, how was your day?”

Dick Roman rarely speaks. His assistant already explained that. Can’t blame Cas for trying, or his father for glaring.

Maybe he’s expecting guests and is waiting for Cas to make himself scarce. When Castiel’s mom started seeing Jerry, they’d send Cas on three-block-radius adventures and warned him to stay gone until the sock was off the knob.

Cas is following Rule # 3 - sitting and eating. But maybe his dad wants him to make like a bird and flock off. That’s definitely what his dark eyes say.

To be safe, Castiel stands to carry his food to his room.

(Castiel’s bedroom with Castiel’s bed, and his clothes, and his computer and Gameboy in it. A serious upgrade from sharing the studio with his mom). It would be a lot less awkward to sit in there than eating under his father’s furious stare. As Cas approaches the door, Dick Roman blocks the exit. He stutters, “I, uh... thought I’d eat upstairs.”

His father doesn't move.

Heart suddenly pounding time, Cas tries to step around him. He could abandon his dinner and run upstairs, except he’s starving. So, he shovels in fork after fork until his cheeks rival a chipmunk’s. His father wraps a large hand around his neck and steers him back to a seat at the table.

Castiel sits and fails at swallowing. His throat burns around the morsel in his windpipe. His eyes water as he beats his chest to dislodge the food while Roman watches him choke.


	2. Chapter 2

 - We’re sorry, but this number is no longer in service. Please hang up and dial again. - 

Dressed and ready for a Thursday, Castiel stuffs the phone into his backpack.

Before he can escape through the back door, his father catches his collar and brush-scrapes Castiel’s hair into submission. The boy tolerates the long strokes back from his forehead without an argument.

Once free, he marches between the rows of odd bushes and those weird, looming sculptures. As soon as he’s out of sight of the house, Cas roughs his hands through his hair, sweeping it back around his face. It’s long enough for a ponytail now, but it’s better when it hangs around his shoulders, like badass Brandon Lee in The Crow.

Also like the Crow, Cas' self-appointed uniform is black on black. He’d been on the shopping spree with his dad’s assistant, Meg, who was pretty, but talked too fast. He’d chosen and ripped the tags off these clothes himself: a black hoodie, black jeans. 

But his bike is the real gem. The Mongoose Legion L100 is the Nimbus 2000 of bikes. It’s the best thing Castiel has ever owned in his life. He opens the shed’s padlock and wheels his treasure down the driveway through the wrought iron gate.

Shaking off the last clingy tendrils of sleepiness, he winds along the two-lane road through the woods. This part of the ride is going to be terrifying in winter. No point worrying about that now. It’s late September and the morning sunlight dances through the gracefully dying leaves.

On his first day of school at Stephens Middle School, Castiel rode to school with a hired driver in one of his father’s town cars. He’d even been allowed to choose the music (Death Cab, of course).

_ Love of mine, someday you will die _

_ But I'll be close behind and I'll follow you into the dark _

_ No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white _

_ Just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark _

_... _

_ I will follow you into the dark _

 

Benjamin’s sweet voice and all the glitter fades to dust when the kids in the schoolyard greeted him with nasty stares.

That afternoon, Castiel called Meg. and she brought his bike. The following day, Cas set out with a twinkle in his eyes, but he only survived a couple of miles of huffing and puffing before the driver, Bobby, piled his bike in the trunk, and the sweaty, defeated boy climbed into the backseat. A few blocks from the school, he set Cas out and pointed the way.

That first week was brutal, but every day Castiel followed Bobby further until on Friday he could ride it all. By week two, Castiel pedaled like he’d been doing it his entire life.

After a couple miles, the woods break into neighborhoods of modest houses. Dads climb into sedan as Castiel whizzes past and returns their waves. This place is nothing like his neighborhood, with the packs of kids standing at the bus stops, dwarfed by ugly buildings and people who made eye contact with their phones.

Being in Aldie, VA is like falling into a black and white TV show. Not as a star or anything, but a quiet extra who everybody kind of knows.

Cas never had to introduce himself and he keeps his head down at school. He doesn’t correct teachers who call him Castile or confront the stupid kid who thinks it’s hilarious to call him Asstiel.

Most people stare and say nothing. That first day, the counselor pulled Cas from class to ask if he needed anything. Cas might have asked for help, but the lady used this awful, soft voice as if Castiel would shatter if she spoke too loud.

He was happy to get out of there, eat his marginally edible school lunch at a table of misfit geeks who whisper about him, but not loud enough to hear the details.

Castiel is well-behaved and patient. He watches for the silver lining.

It finally comes in the form of an assignment: create a model of the fort at Jamestown. The heavens grace him Jo Harvelle as partner - only the hottest girl in the 8th grade, a volleyball and track star.

For the first time, Castiel isn’t biking home alone. He’s pushing his bike between Jo and her brother, the hottest boy in 8th grade: brainiac and future Supreme Court judge, Sam Winchester.

Once they become friends, Cas can ask about the last names. They probably have different dads. Nobody knows that better than Castiel Novak how weird all that fathers and names stuff can be.

Cas leaves Meg a message to say that he’ll be home late. She usually only comes around on Saturdays, but if she gets this, she can tell Castiel’s dad.

Castiel hasn’t been this hyped since his 11th birthday. Jerry got them Os tickets. Castiel doesn’t give a rip about baseball, but Jerry and his mom did. It was great just eating his hotdog and watching them shout at the ump.

As they’re leaving the schoolyard, someone shouts, “Hey! You two make a killer couple.”

A bunch of kids laugh, but Jo doesn’t. When she turns around, it’s like somebody hit the mute button.

“What did you say?” It doesn’t seem to bother her that she’s a few inches shorter than the boy she confronts.  “You little piece of shit.”

Her eyes gleam with murder until a teacher comes through the double doors. Then Jo straightens her spine and whispers, “Fuck you.”

Less than a minute later, Jo is halfway up the road, chirping into her phone.

Sam lags behind, nose in a book, begging to fall into a manhole cover. Cas wheels beside Sam, to guard his life.

It’s hard to tell which of them is hotter: tough, blonde Jo or brooding Sam with his clear, hazel eyes. Castiel would die to be in the middle of a Sam and Jo snuggle sandwich?

He’d even settle to be friends with them, but that means saying something.

“Dude, you love to read.”

Sam acts deaf. Castiel bends over and to see the title.

“Look.” Sam stops walking, saving his page with a finger. “Stay away from my brother.”

“What?” Castiel didn’t even know they had a brother. Will he be more like Jo or Sam. “Why?”

Sam shakes his head and returns to his reading.

“So, what is that book?”

Sam rolls his eyes, but holds the book so Cas can see.

“Thomas Hardy,” Cas read. “Never heard of him. Is it good?”

“Yeah.”

Sam’s tone adds, ‘Shut up and get lost.’

Cas could turn now and go home. They wouldn’t even notice. He still knows the way from here. It’ll just be another afternoon in that giant, creepy house. At least nobody there makes him feel like an idiot for trying to make conversation.

And he wouldn’t be alone. His father will be working in the yard until nightfall. Then, maybe they could try a version of last night’s dinner that didn’t include Castiel nearly choking to death.

Or maybe he just tried the wrong sibling.

Cas takes a deep breath and picks up his pace. Jo isn’t on her phone anymore. This is his chance, as long as he doesn’t say anything stupid.

“Hey.” 

At least Jo doesn’t ignore him.

“What’s your dad like?”

Castiel shrugs. Everyone asks him that: teachers, the counselor.

Jo frowns at the non-answer. But she’s got more questions where that one came from: “Why aren’t you with your mother?”

“She went on a cruise in the Bermuda triangle.”

Jo stares, amazed for a moment. “Very funny, shit head. Anybody ever tell you to go play in traffic?”

Cas forces a chuckle.

“I’m serious,” Jo says and shoves him.

Castiel and his bike tumble into the street. His heart leaps into his throat and pounds at his adam’s apple as a car zooms by inches from his head. A horn blares. Cas crawls to the sidewalk. The next car that passes turns his bike to roadkill.

“No!”

It’s not a massive accident. The driver honks, but doesn’t bother to stop. Castiel’s bike twitches and screeches its death by crushed front tire.

Jo laughs and watches, probably waiting for the tears Castiel struggles to keep back. His dad will replace it. Probably. Maybe. 

As Sam passes, Jo smacks his book into his face. Sam pushes her back, but Jo’s return blow lands on the concrete beside his book.

“Idiots.”

Sam ignores Castiel’s outstretched hand and walks away, leaving Cas to drag his wonky bike behind them.

 

***

 

In a former life, the house was white. The filthy siding slides off the facade in places. Lead-based paint chips away like poisoned snowflakes.

Jo chases a couple of small kids into the backyard.

“Welcome to paradise,” Sam calls back over his shoulder and tromps up the steps. “Do what I said.”

Sam’s brother? What does Cas want with that little kid? Does he have chicken pox or something?

The screen door slams shut and Castiel parks what’s left of his bike beside the porch steps. He doesn’t bother with the lock. Who would want this hunk of junk now?

He stands at the door for a few minutes regulating his breath before he knocks. Then he rings.

Eventually, Jo opens the front door and frowns.

“Sorry,” she says. “Forgot.”

This girl is mean, but the air is filled with buttery awesomeness. Soon enough, Castiel’s mouth is full of popcorn. He lays on the stained carpet, peering over Jo’s shoulder at internet images of the Jamestown fort.

This, right here, is dumb damn luck. Castiel is less than a foot from Jo’s strawberry-smelling hair. And while she may be mildly dangerous, this house is a safe space. She’s not going to do anything crazy in here.  

“It’s a bullshit project,” Jo says. “We already went to Jamestown in fourth grade. Who gives a shit?”

“Do you think you could make different linguistic choices, Joanna?”

“Sorry, Mary.”

A beautiful, blonde woman floats over them. “Do you want to introduce your friend?”

Castiel shields his eyes from the dwindling sunlight through the window that shines behind Mary like a halo.

“This is Castiel,” Jo says without looking up. “Not my friend. Roman’s kid.”

Mary’s eyes grow wide, before she smiles. “Good lord. Are you really?”

Castiel Novak: the boy who exists. All the adults in town act this way when they find out who Cas is, like they’d been certain his father was a virgin or that he’d spawn something even stranger than Castiel.

Since Angel Mary is still looking, Castiel stands and sticks out a hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too, Castiel. I’m Mary Winchester. And I have to say, I’m glad Ricky has someone.”

Slender limbs, cornsilk hair, fair skin, coral lipstick. Castiel’s mom was nobody’s idea of beautiful, but she was a good person.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

Ricky?

Castiel’s father and this woman must have had a fling. Is that why Cas’ mom left him? That would be massive intel to add to random comments of teachers who mentioned that Roman Manor has been in their family for over two centuries. A lot of kids have hurled the word crazy, but without elaborating.

It’s easy to call someone crazy, but it doesn’t mean anything other than the person in question was not like everyone else. No one needs to tell Castiel that his dad is odd, but then again, so is Cas. Is Richard Roman the kind of odd he’ll grow into? Handsome, rich and alone?

“Save some for somebody else, hogboy.”

In his daydreaming, Cas has murdered nearly all the popcorn. Electricity thrills through him when Jo toes dig into his ribs. It hurts, yes. But she also touched him.

Jo stomps off with the bowl, hopefully for more Orville Reddenbacher’s.

“Don’t touch that,” she yells as Cas starts scrolling through pictures on the laptop.

Castiel tucks his hands under his pits and lays on his belly, watching Sam read.

If Sam ever puts the books down, he hasn’t since school ended. He’s curled up in a chair, with Tom Hardy in his lap and his hair falling over his eyes. This house isn’t fancy or huge, but it’s full of beautiful people and life and energy.

There is so much wrong with that train of thought, Cas derails it and stares at the computer screen.

First of all, his mother is coming back. Second, Cas should appreciate what he’s got. One day, he’ll look back and laugh at how awkward it was with his father at first. They’ll laugh and laugh and laugh.

It would be good enough to come visit the Winchesters sometimes. It’s a magical place with enchanted people. Sam and Jo will thaw out. All in time.

“Tell your friend she’s got a cute ass,” a man’s voice carries through the tissue-thin walls.

Jo laughs. “Why don’t you tell her?”

“Fine, I will. What’s her name?

“Cas.”

Cas, the one with the ice sliding down his spine. These people live here all the time. They must know Castiel can hear.

“You’re shitting me,” the man says.

“I’m not.”

“Cas? Like my Cas?”

“Yup.” Jo is still laughing. “Like Cassie.”

“You lying little cunt.”

“You don’t believe me, ask her, Dean.”

“Hey! Hey, girl.”

The man stomps into the room. He looms over Castiel now, gazing down at what apparently is a cute, girl’s butt.

“Hey. You deaf?”

The man, Dean, kicks his foot and Castiel’s jaw locks tight enough to crush bone between his teeth.

“What’s her name?”

Sam glances up from his book, shakes his head and keeps reading.

“You guys are a bunch of… Don’t you hear me —”

Castiel nose stings. This Dean man is going to be pissed at him for not being a girl, and for not answering right away, but this has to end, ideally before Cas starts to cry. He takes a deep, chilling breath, and sits up so the guy can see him.

Cas snaps his mouth shut, but it’s too late. They must have heard him gasp. He wasn’t prepared for the flawless face frowning down at him.

Dean isn’t exactly a man. Nineteen, maybe. And he’s the most heart-wrenching thing Castiel has ever seen. He looks like that Greek guy who stared at himself in a pond and turned into a flower… or whatever. Castiel missed the details in class, but this was definitely that guy.

Dean’s mouth falls open, too and Jo doubles over with laughter.

“You little shit.” He shoves her.

As if Castiel’s cheeks aren’t hot enough, Sam pauses reading long enough to hurl a scowl. Perfect people can be so cruel.


	3. Chapter 3

One mystery is solved. Dean is the brother to stay away from, although Sam didn’t say why. Dean, with the horrifyingly resistible green eyes and the mind-boggling mouth. Castiel won’t have any trouble avoiding him. If Dean gets too close, Castiel's brain will melt.

Castiel calls Meg and leaves another message: this time dinner with the Winchesters. Microwave meatloaf is pretty delicious, but no way he’s going to miss Mrs. Winchester’s real food. Plus, Cas couldn’t say no to her.

Cas sits at the table between Sam and Jo with mountains of black beans, mixed vegetables, fluffy rice and a baked chicken breast on his plate. He doesn’t usually eat beans, but all this food smells like magic.

The difference between a meal cooked in pots and one on a plastic tray can’t be contained in words. Tears in Castiel’s eyes, his breathing has slowed. He has heaven on a plate.

Not only is there dinner, but there’s first-row entertainment in the form of scolding: Sam trying to sneak a book at the table and, Jo chasing Dean around the table.

She corners and pummels him with body shots.

“Jo!” Mrs. Winchester shouts.

Mr. Winchester, fresh home from work and also gorgeous in a stubbly caveman way, pins Jo’s arms at her sides and pulls her off, kicking and screaming, “He’s such a fucking dick.”

“JoAnna.” Mrs. Winchester drops the serving spoon. “I have really had it with your language. Do you need to go eat with the dogs?”

“Are there dogs?” Cas searches the room and pulls his feet up, criss-cross in his chair. 

“Why?” Jo shakes out of her father’s grip and smiles like the boss of hell. “You scared?”

Fear is for when something bad might happen. Castiel has the memory of teeth in his shoulder and a scar to remind him that dogs are evil. If there are dogs, he’s leaving. Shame about the food. 

Castiel stands.

“They’re outside, son.”

How would it be if Cas was Mr. Winchester’s son? That’s a blasphemy against his own dad and Castiel curses himself for it. 

When Mr Winchester sits at the head of the table and says something about the Lord, everyone else’s eyes are closed, hands folded over their plates. It’s the perfect time to steal a glance at Dean, the demigod, who sits directly across the table. 

Dean, who is already glaring back with his green eyes dark. Castiel’s body floods hot and cold until he squirms in his seat. 

Dean inhales his food quickly enough to request seconds before anyone else finishes their first helping. Even with this superhuman speed, he manages to rib Sam and Jo about school while shooting glares at Castiel.

He must know. 

Cas’ mom said it’s okay to like boys, but never to tell them unless they say so first. The same approach works with girls.

But Dean must be able to tell and it’s grossing him out. That’s why he keeps scowling at Cas, gobbling those huge, bites and licking the gravy from his spellbinding lips.

Castiel folds his shoulders in, sinks into his chair and tries to become smaller. But there’s murky pleasure in all this attention, even if Dean wants to beat him into a pulp, that would mean those hands all over Castiel’s body.  

The blood boils under Castiel’s skin. His heart beats hard enough to burst through his chest, hop across the table, and into Dean’s lap like a hackeysack.

Dean’s father asks without swallowing first, “So, what happened to your mother anyway?” 

“John!”

“What, Mare. We supposed to act like we don’t know?” Mr. Winchester shovels in more food and keeps talking. “I’m asking the kid a question.”

“Do you even know his name?”

“Carl or something, right?”

“Cas,” Dean corrects. 

Castiel shivers at the sound of his name on that deep voice. His attempt to cool himself results in radioactive lime drink down his front. The little kids snicker as Cas’ face catches fire. 

They’re not even concerned with the mess. They’re staring, waiting for an answer. Castiel’s life has just become a game show. Mr. Winchester is the host,  (although he’s belongs in one of those ads where the Neanderthals get credit cards). 

“There was an earthquake and she got trapped in a cave.”

Jo squints and cocks her head.

Her father asks, “Where you from again?”

“Maryland.”

Mr. and Mrs. Winchster exchange confused looks but the man swallows Cas’ story with another forkful of beans.

“That’s not what you told me, is it?” Jo jabs her fork an inch from Castiel’s eyes. “So who are you lying to and why, you little shit?”

“JoAnna. I’ve really had it with you tonight,” Mrs. Winchester says. “You’re excused.”

Jo shoves her plate and stomps away from the table.

“It must be very difficult.” Mrs. Winchester reaches out as if she’d touch Castiel’s hand if he were close enough. “It’s good that you have your father now.”

They must teach this “Look on the bright side of life” schtick in how-to-be-a-mother school.

“And Dick?” Mr. Winchester says with his mouth full.

Jo and Dean giggle while Cas listens for the rest of the question.

“John, that’s really enough.”

“I’m making conversation, Mare. Carl, you mind?”

“No,” Cas says. “No, sir.”

Mr. Winchester nods. “See? Listen to that. Manners.”

His older kids groan.

“Like it would kill you to show some respect.”

Dean rolls his eyes toward his mother who returns a saint’s smile. He shakes his head, sucks his teeth, but doesn’t speak. 

“How the hell is Dick Roman a father?” The caveman is on a roll. “That’s going to be the elephant in every room you ever enter, kid.”

“My dad is awesome,” Cas answers without thinking. “We have a lot of fun together. He’s taking me to the mountains this weekend, so, you know…”

He stops himself before the story spirals beyond controllable proportions.

“We talking about the same Dick Roman?” Mr. Winchster asks. “Lives in that haunted house down the end of Hewitt Road?”

“It’s not haunted.”

The idea had stalked across Castiel’s mind his first night alone in that huge, secluded brick building surrounded by the overgrown garden with its night noises, white statues and creepy woods growing over the edges of the property. 

“It’s not haunted,” Cas repeats. 

“Roman Manor?” Mr. Winchster laughs. “It sure as hell is. We used to dare each other just to climb the fence. And you’ve been inside that house?”

“He lives in that house, John.”

Mr. Winchester blinks at Castiel and shakes his head. “Well, you seem all right.”

He clearly wants to say more, but he keeps eating instead. 

Sam is on dish duty. Castiel offers to help and Sam ignores him. Dean, on the other hand, stations himself at Castiel’s elbow.

“I’m going out. I could drive Cas home.”

Castiel’s pulse bangs a weird rhythm on his eardrum. Is Dean being nice or trying to create an opportunity to mash a little freak? It doesn’t matter. Castiel alone in a car with Dean Winchester equals a pile of ashes on the passenger seat because Cas would spontaneously combust.

“I, um, I have my bike,” Cas stutters, even though his bike is a corpse, and he has absolutely no idea how to get home from here. 

“I’ll take the pick up,” Dean says.

Castiel makes a nuisance of himself with people he likes even a little bit. If Cas accidentally stares too long or touches himself to relieve some of the heat in his crotch, he’s ground meat. 

“Since when do you drive the pickup?” Mr. Winchester asks.

Dean’s eyes narrow until his mother squeezes his arm and kisses his cheek. “You’re sweet to offer.”

“Well, it’s too dark for him to bike home,” Dean regards Castiel with an unreadable expression.

Mrs. Winchester grabs a set of keys from the rack by the door. “Johnny, you read to the kids. I’ll take Castiel.”

Cas says goodbye to Sam and Jo, but her earbuds are in and Sam grunts without turning from the sink. 

“Sam,” Mrs. Winchester calls.

He turns and nods goodbye. Mr. Winchester and the little kids wish Cas a good night, as well. Castiel intentionally doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

There’s probably some law against crushing on your classmate’s parents, but Mary Winchester is insanely awesome. She lifts Castiel’s bike into the back of the truck like it weighs nothing. When the engine won’t turn, she swears, sticks her head under the hood, and bends it to her will.

“Spark plug,” she says, bringing the scent of gravy into the truck’s cabin.

Once they're finally in motion, Mrs. Winchester pats the dashboard and puts the truck in gear. Castiel’s leg bounces out of control. Right now, he could be alone with Dean, getting the crap beat out of him.

“You cold?”

“No, ma’am.”

Mrs. Winchester turns on the heat anyway. Then, she apologizes for her

husband, explaining,  “I didn’t marry John for his brains.”

She chuckles and signals a left turn.

Then why did she marry him? How do people come together, and kiss, and make babies? How did Cas’ parents find each other, and why did they split up?

“Check in the glove box,” Mrs. Winchester points. “John usually keeps a Snickers in there.”

Cas uncovers a treasure trove: Snickers, Mars bar, and a pack of M&Ms. As he takes his first bite, Mrs. Winchester tunes to a country music station. After a while, she’s humming along. Her pitch isn’t great, but Cas smiles to himself. His mom was a pretty terrific singer, but she only did it as long as the shower was hot. Half the time, her songs ended in howling as the water temperature dropped.

When the commercials start up, Mrs. Winchester turns down the volume.

“You know, your family is… legendary around here,” she says.

Legendary is like crazy: it makes an impression without saying anything.  

“This is going to date me, Castiel,” she says. “But I actually babysat your dad when he was little.”

Castiel’s brain trudges through a cloud of chocolate, sticky nougat and peanut butter to face the math of how that’s possible. It’s beyond the scope of his imagination. Not girlfriend. Baby sitter.

Cas is young, but he’s already learned that dumb rule about asking ladies their age.

And how old is his dad? Castiel could ask him that. Or Meg.

It’s not a super private question like, why am I just now meeting you? or where is my mom?

“It didn’t last long,” Mrs. Winchester says. “Mr. Roman, your … great uncle, I suppose. Your grandmother’s brother, wasn’t an easy employer. Very meticulous, you know?”

Castiel never heard that word and he had never had a grandmother.  “So, she’s dead?”

“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Winchester glances over. “Yes. She’s… she’s gone.”

Old people die. Why the big deal? He takes two seconds to mourn the cheek pinching, sweets and hugs that might have been.

“You know, honestly, Cas, I never saw her. According to Mr. Roman, she couldn’t stand all the ... Well, you know, babies are messy. That was hard for her. She was, apparently, a very squeamish woman.”

Babies are gross. “What was her name?”

“Patricia. Pat. Like your great uncle. Pat. They were twins,” Mrs. Winchester explains. “At least, that’s how I heard it. Your grandma was in her early fifties when she had Ricky, and everybody says that’s why…”

Mrs. Winchester brakes at a red light and reaches for some of the candy bar. When Castiel tries to hand it over, she bites it from his hand, sending a warm surge down there.

“So far as I could ever tell,” she says. “He was perfectly normal. But of course, he was pretty little back then.”

“How old were you?” Technically allowed.

“Oh, this was in high school. So, fifteen, sixteen.” Mrs. Winchester smiles at a comment she doesn’t add. “There were always new maids, and chefs, and nannies coming in and out of that house. I just needed something for the summer job. They’d lost a staff member and the timing was good. I never really saw him again after that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Ricky didn’t really leave the house. We found out later… well, legend has it that he was sickly. But then…” she sighs. “Ricky must have been pretty young when you … Not that it’s any of my business. Was your mother at the… you know, that place?”

Castiel stares into deep space through the windshield. Mrs. Winchester lost him at “sickly.” For as much as his mother had told him, his father might as well have spawned him and swam away.

“What kind of place, Mrs. Winchester?”

She shakes her head. “If you don’t know, it’s not for me to say. I only mentioned because I didn’t think Ricky left that house until… well, until his mother died.”

“Oh.”

“But then he came home, fired all the staff and started taking care of the place himself. I’d even see him at the grocery store. Tried to talk to him a few times, but I’m not sure he’s verbal. Can he … you know, does he speak?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Well, technically, that’s unclear. According to Meg, it happened, rarely. Castiel shouldn’t expect it. 

“Look, I’ll just spit this out, Cas, and hope that you’re old enough to handle it. A lot of people are very curious about you, because Ricky Roman is a few years shy of thirty. And you…”

Cas doesn’t need his fingers for the math. If Mrs. Winchester is correct, Castiel’s father would have been 15 when Cas was born.

“That’s not really possible, is it?”

“Well, biologically, of course,” she snickers. “It’s just not very likely.”

So, Richard Roman isn’t really his father? So what about the features they seemed to have in common? Was that all wishful?

If that’s true, who is Dick Roman? And where is Castiel’s mother? And why is he here?

“Is Ricky really taking you to the mountains this weekend?”

That was a dumb lie. Castiel’s throat aches. If Mrs. Winchester asks anything that requires a spoken answer, his voice will squeak out pitiful and deflated as his guts.

“Listen, honey, if you ever need anything. Even just someplace to be…”

Castiel’s face warms as he nods. A wave crests behind his eyes and crashes into his sinuses. Nobody has talked to him with this tender, sincere voice, ever. His mom wasn’t a tender kind of person. She loved him, of course, but she didn’t have time for this emotional crap.

When they reach the manor, Cas could stay in the car. He could put his head on Mrs. Winchester’s lap and cry like a little baby. Let out the poison until he’s light enough to float away. She’d let him. She’d stroke his hair and coo some nonsense about it all being okay. Then, she’d drive home and tell Jo and Sam to be nice to Cas because he’s a fragile cupcake.

Or she’d tell Dean, who doesn’t give a crap whether Castiel lives or cries. Dean just won’t abide Cas staring like a hungry, little puppy. Nobody wants somebody staring at them, thinking weird sexy thoughts.

Castiel chews his lip and holds back the flood until Mrs. Winchester is idling outside the gate at Roman Manor. She’s pulled the truck right alongside one of the NO TRESPASSING signs.

“Do you know the code?”

It's his house. Of course, he knows the code. Castiel doesn’t answer. In his rush, he stumbles out of the truck, misses the step. The concrete scrapes away layers of denim and skin.

He leaves the door hanging open, but doesn’t turn around when Mrs. Winchester calls after him. He punches in the numbers, slides through the pedestrian gate and scurries up the horseshoe driveway without looking back like a pitiful broken little puppy cupcake.  



	5. Chapter 5

Winchesters seeing Cas cry would be a nightmares. But if Richard Dick Roman catches Castiel with his face covered in tears and snot, that would be an intolerable disaster. How could he explain why he’s crying when Cas doesn’t even know himself?

He sobs on the front porch like a big loser baby until, eventually, it’s reduced to a few sporadic hiccups. That’s when Cas eases open the door, tiptoes into the foyer and up the stairs. When his bedroom door is secure, he stifles a fresh wail in a pillow.

Castiel slides to the rug beside his bed, drops his face into his hands and weeps himself hollow. Then, he dries his hands with his palms.

Mary Winchester could be completely wrong.

An idea ignites the center of Castiel’s brain. He is in the perfect place to find answers. This ancient house might hold everything he needs to know.  It would be ideal to wait until Dick Roman is away, but that may never happen.

The best Cas can do is wait until after midnight. Even if Roman catches him, Castiel can say he couldn’t sleep. That he got lost on his way to the kitchen for warm milk. Or that his toilet clogged and he’s looking for another bathroom.

Cas grins at his own genius. The crying is over. It’s time for the mission.

He grips his doorknob firm, like shaking on a pact. Cas nudges off his fluffy white slippers, slips his door open wide enough to creep into the cold corridor. His heart pounds in his teeth as he peers left and right. Castiel taps the home button on his phone to illuminate the dense darkness. He grips the banister and creeps down the long winding staircase.

If Cas were a birth certificate, where would he be?

Finding his own or Dick Roman’s would be a good start.  

Maybe his mother is even being held in some room in this place. It’s crazy, but Castiel’s blood quickens at the idea. It won’t matter if all the doors are locked.

Safely down the stairs, through the parlor, down another ice-cold, unlit hall Castiel finally reaches the closet by the front door. It’s a long shot, but what if Roman keeps his wallet and keys in a coat pocket like Jerry used to do?

Every one is empty.

Cas could go back upstairs, wait until Saturday, and ask Meg. If he conducts himself like an adult, someone will respect him enough to give him adult answers, right? Only, so far, asking about his mother has only resulted in more of the same non-answers Cas feeds everyone else.

“Don’t worry, Castiel,” Meg says. “Everything will be fine.”

Another plan dawns. Six separate sets of keys hang in a neat row on hooks by the back door.

Why is Cas just thinking of this? He’ll try each key in each door in this house. If not all tonight, tomorrow, and the next night. Eventually, he’ll unearth the papers, files, photo albums and documents that cover his place in this legendary Roman family history.

Or maybe he’ll find out where his mother is.

A determined expression fixes itself on Castiel’s face as he turns to leave the closet and collect that first set of keys.

A light flicks on in the foyer. Castiel’s pulse skyrockets as he tugs the door shut, forbidding himself to breathe even once his chest grieves for air.

The door swings open and Roman raises the menacing end of a ten-inch machete. Castiel’s heart stops. His blood ices over as tears streak his face.

Before he can utter an excuse, Richard Roman’s begins to sing:

_“Like a thief in the night_

_In the place where you hide_

_He will come like a thief in the night._

_Like a thief in the night_

_He will come for his bride_

_He will come like a thief in the night.”_


	6. Chapter 6

The detention monitor strolls to the front of the room, scribbles DONE on the board and shouts, “All right. Get out of here and don’t do the same stupid crap tomorrow.”

Chairs scrape the floor as captives grumble profanity and drag backpacks through the door. Castiel rubs his eyes, yawns and stretches his creaky arms to the ceiling. Detention is solitary confinement in a crowd. Students locked in a room full of their criminal peers, but not allowed to talk, pass notes, read, draw, write, or sleep.

Sleep is like air. You got to have it. That’s the reason Castiel is in here with the bad kids. How is passing out in Algebra a punishable offense? That was expected after the night he’d had (or rather hadn't had). These megalomaniacs at the school can suck it. They pretend to want to help, but public education is for control freaks.

Roman, on the other hand, was within his right. Good parents punish their kids.  They have a responsibility to discipline their children. What happened last night was a little severe, but it wasn’t punishment. It was a breakthrough.

In one sleepless night, Castiel learned that he would stand there forever, overlooking the blade and the weird singing into impenetrable brown eyes. He bowed to Roman’s authority. A boy belongs to his father and grows best with firm love to break him. If Roman is Castiel’s dad, he can do whatever he wants.

All day, Cas has thrummed with an urgency to be home and near him. By the end of detention, he’s spent a restless day with a flock of peculiar thoughts dripping indecent ideas like buzzard droppings on Castiel’s hunched shoulders. He pushes through the double doors into the biting-bright late sun.

He smacks his forehead.

His battered bike is in the back of the Winchester’s pickup truck. At Cas’ request, Meg sent Bobby to drive this morning. But Castiel had snoozed on telling her that he’d be released two hours later than usual. Bobby may have waited a half hour, but he’s gone now.

Cas hits himself again, and a third time. He could call Meg. She might answer and send Bobby right away. But who is the hell is this woman? She isn’t his mother. She isn’t even Roman’s girlfriend. She’s paid to deal with Castiel so Roman won’t have to.

But Cas overstepped the line last night and Roman dealt with him. They don’t need Meg anymore.

An hour-long bike ride must translate to one bear of a walk, but arriving home after dark might incite another round of Roman’s wrath. In fact, Cas could do something awful so the school will have to call home.

It’s beyond stupid, but he grins at his pounding pulse. He fetches the keys from his pocket, glances over his shoulder and peels open the Swiss army knife Jerry gave him for his 11th birthday. He eenie meenies for the tire. As he kneels, someone shouts, “Hey.”

Cas’ heart punches his ribs and he drops his keys. Three rows down, Dean Winchester steps out of a black antique car almost as gorgeous as he is. He’s a reincarnation of James Dean in his crisp white T-shirt and snug jeans, complete with cowboy boots and a wicked smile.

“So, what’d you do?” Dean strides closer.

A better question is what he’s doing at Castiel’s school, but words won’t form.  Cas’ mouth hangs open, unwilling to risk saying something stupid. People have already been laughing at him all day.

Dean finger traces over Castiel’s forehead, barely a touch, but sears like a match.

“You beat the jackass who did this?”

Cas already forgot that one of his classmates scribbled LUNAT in purple sharpie before the teacher shouted Cas awake and assigned detention (for sleeping, not for vandalizing people).

Castiel’s face heats as he uselessly scrubs his forehead.

“What do you got there?” Dean picks up the keys and a slow smile of understanding blossoms on his face. “Didn’t take you for that kind of kid.”

Cas looks at the ground and shakes his head.

“Go ahead, then. I’ll keep an eye out.”

Castiel’s gut juices roil. He wasn’t really going to do it. Now he has to, unless he wants to look like a punk. A thin scratch along a passenger door is not going to cut it.

Cas jams the blade of his knife into the tire. It bounces and smacks him in the face. A sputter of laughter bursts out of Dean before he covers his mouth with a fist.

“Shit, kid.”

Dean claims the knife. He scrapes the sidewall of the tire a few times, then presses the tip to the rubber, angles upward and drives it home like he’s slicing butter. Grinning, he hands it back and asks,  “You need to stay and watch it deflate?”

Cas jams the keys into the pouch of his hoodie and stalks away before things get any worse.

“Hey, where you going?”

Don’t talk to strangers, not even ones with sparkly green eyes and freckles on golden skin.

“To the Roman house? You going to walk all the way down there?”

Castiel stops. No wonder Dean’s here. “Do you have my bike?”

“No, little freak, but you should come with me.”

Castiel winces, as if freak is the worst thing he’s ever been called. Coming from Dean, the word stabs deeper than the writing on his face and the detention combined. It’s worse than when Jo shouted, “Hey, girl,” at Cas in the hall.

How much more shit is he supposed to swallow today?

“I just want to show you something,” Dean says. “Then, I’ll take you home.”

“No.”

Castiel starts walking again at a quicker pace. If Dean follows, Cas will duck into someone’s yard to hide.

“Look, I’m giving you a ride, you stubborn little psycho.”

“I don’t want it.”

All Castiel wants is to walk the thousand miles and possibly kick a squirrel along the way.

Dean tosses his cigarette to the ground and runs ahead of Cas, walking backward. “Come on, kid. I just want to show you this one thing.”

He hops left and right with his arms wide, blocking the sidewalk. Finally, Dean seizes Castiel’s wrist and the boy freezes, transfixed.

“You’ll like it, I promise,” Dean says. “And then, I’ll take you home.”

He slips Castiel’s straps down his arms and leads the way to that magnificent classic car. Dean tosses his backpack into the back seat.

“This is your car?”

Dean smooths a hand over the vehicle’s body. “You like her?”

“She’s amazing.”

“Well, you might be weird, but you ain’t dumb, are you?”

Dean Winchester’s compliments are going to take some getting used to.

“This here is my Baby. Why don’t you say hey?”

“Hey, Baby.”

With one careful fingertip, Cas caresses the glimmering black armor. Dean’s smile sucks the breath from his lungs.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean says. “Always treat a lady with respect.”

Baby deserves more than respect. She should be praised for the fast-food and baked-good aroma wafting from her leather interior. For the way the ground rumbles underfoot and the seats rattle while she roars. The only thing missing is Castiel’s bag to conceal the boner straining the zipper of his jeans.


	7. Chapter 7

“So, Cas is short for Casper, or what?”

“Castiel.”

“What kind of name is that?”

Cas shrugs, rests his head on the window and dozes off before Dean’s car leaves the parking lot.

In his dreams, Castiel’s reflection stares back from a sharp blade. Rather than his own dull blue, cold brown eyes stare back forbidding Castiel to sleep or sit or speak. The sun rises and he begins to fade into vampiric dust.

A distant gunshot startles Castiel awake. It was only the driver’s door slamming shut. He peels the drool from the corner of his mouth and follows Dean into the Winchester’s shed.

Dean stands wide-legged with his hands on his hips.

“So, you want to tell me what the hell happened?”

At his feet lie the remains of Castiel’s bike.

“I, um… It got hit by a car.” Cas leaves out the part where Dean’s sister pushed him into the street.

“That’s not how you treat your wheels, man.”

Cas doesn’t argue. If he says a word, he’ll start sniffling.

“You okay?” Dean looks Cas over, jostles him and raises his fists to incite a round of shadow boxing.

Castiel holds his breath and mirrors the stance even though he’s simultaneously terrified of looking like an idiot, getting hurt, and springing a boner.

Dean ruffles his hair and gives him a playful shove. “Nah, man. Don’t want you to kick my ass.”

So, this is what it’s like to have a big brother.

Cas was going to be a big brother. His mother was going to have a little girl, but that would probably have sucked anyway. She would have had all the attention, and Jerry would have been her real dad. Still, Cas never wished the baby would die. That’s just what happened.

Dean flips the bike upside down and crunches through some tools in a box. He spins the wobbly tire, mumbling about how “that pussy, Sam never wants to use his hands anymore.”

“Get over here,” Dean says. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m showing you how.”

Castiel takes Dean’s place, kneeling beside the bike, but is unable to loosen the screw. Dean takes over, continuing his speech without missing a beat. “Don’t let this happen again, man. This is a beautiful damn bike and this wheel was expensive."

Only now, Castiel notices the replacement tire leaning on a sawhorse.

“Do I need to pay you for it?”

Cas has no money, but Dick Roman certainly does. Maybe he’ll give an allowance.

“This one is on me, kid,” Dean says. “Next one I’m taking out of your ass.”

Cas stares, stunned. Dean grins and grabs Cas’ neck.

“Take care of your bike.”

Castiel nods and watches Dean wash his hands in a utility sink. When Dean tosses the soap, Cas fumbles like a complete jackass.

Dean chuckles but doesn’t call him a loser or anything. He rolls the bike out of the shed to the driveway, hopping on and popping a sky-high wheelie. Castiel applauds like a cheerleader.

Dean grins, spins the handlebars, and wipes out onto the concrete. Castiel gasps and falls silent until his own personal Super Dave disentangles himself from the bike, stands, dusts off his pants and takes a bow.

Castiel claps and laughs. Jo and Sam must be in of the house, missing this performance. Then again, they have Dean all the time. Any kid should be so lucky.

“So, you had detention, right?” Dean claps Cas’ arm and packs the bike in his trunk. “You got to be starving. Come on. I’ll get you a sandwich on the way.”

“Why? Why’d you help me?”

Nobody does stuff for no reason. Everything costs and if Dean thinks Castiel is rich, they’d better have this conversation now.

“Why not?” Dean smiles. “Do I need a reason to be nice to people I like?”

Castiel’s head swells and spins.

There’s no way Dean Winchester is asking him out. But that’s how it sounds. What the hell does Cas know about it? He’s never been on a date. His romantic experience consists of drooling over people from afar. Dean Winchester is the most supremely drool-worthy person he’s ever met, but he isn’t very far. In fact, Dean is very close, brushing Castiel’s hair back and guiding him toward the car.

“Come on, little weirdo.”

Cas scowls at the nickname, but that palm is warm and huge on his back. Dean is strong and tall, and kind, and of course, it’s not a date, but it doesn't hurt to pretend.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean doesn’t bother turning down the screeching from his speakers. He just  hollers over it, “So, what was that, your math teacher’s tire? You don’t got Ms.  Waller, do you? What a bitch.”

Cas had already forgotten the tire, his teachers. Everything that isn’t Dean. 

“You don’t know?” Dean cackles and punches Castiel’s arm. “You just generally  pissed off? Good for you, kid. Fuck ‘em just to see the look on their face.”

Cas would never say anything like that, but the words roll off Dean’s gilded  tongue send a shiver like a lick down his vertebra. 

Dean howls along to his music until he parks in a strip mall. Cas has no money,  here or anywhere else. But his growling stomach compels him to follow Dean  into the sandwich shop and pray for another miracle.

“Welcome to —”

The girl behind the counter stops short, grins and rolls her eyes as Dean and  Castiel enter under the ringing bell.

“Little Cas,” Dean says. “Meet big Cas. Is that priceless, or what?”

“He’s cute.” The girl smiles like Cas is a hedgehog. “What is with you and little  kids?”

“Hanging out,” Dean says. “What can I say? Pied Piper over here.”

So, if Castiel thought he was unique, he can put that thought out of his head.

Dean likes ‘little kids’ and that’s all Cas is to him. 

“You’re so weird, sometimes,” Cassie says.

“He’s cool.” Dean ruffles Castiel’s hair. “Aren’t you cool, Cas?”

Cool Castiel would like to go home now. But he’s also hungry for something  other than the bologna sandwiches he makes himself after school every day.  He’d told Meg bologna, so that’s his own fault. She stocked up on what he  requested.

Dean drops the hand and hops onto the counter. He leans across and kisses  Cassie, right on the lips. Castiel could tell that she liked Dean by that tinkering  bells tone of her voice, but this image implodes his heart. Then, shatters it.   He might need a sick bucket. 

“What do you want, kid?” Dean says, back on his feet. “Anything at all.”

Castiel wants to march behind the counter and hold Big Cas’ face down on the  grill, then flip her and do the other side. She’s too pretty, too perfect with her  thick black curls hanging over her shoulders and her huge, brown eyes and her  gorgeous dark skin. 

Everything that’s not Castiel is what Dean likes. 

Cas had gotten so high off Dean’s attention, and the sound of his car, and the  wind in his face that it’s a long fall back to the reality that Cas is some sort of  temporary pet.

The exit is right behind him. He could run out, if he had any idea where he was.  And if he wasn’t starving.

Dean pats his back. “I got you.”

But Cas can’t show Dean’s girlfriend his squeaky voice. He can’t even look at  her face. Dean places his order and suggests a turkey club. Cas nods and  makes no attempt to raise his slumped shoulders.

Cassie tries to talk with Dean over her shoulders and spills food all over the  place. Castiel turns up his nose, swallowing the vomit that gushes to his throat.

“Hey, what’s up?” Dean asks.

Cas stares at the wall as Cassie holds the food hostage, only exchanging it for  another kiss.

“Say, Thanks Cassie,” Dean instructs.

“Thanks, Cassie.” 

Thankfully, the words spill out and not Castiel’s lunch. He follows Dean like a  flap of toilet paper on the heel of his boots. 

Back in the car, Castiel reaches for the food and Dean slaps his hand. Does he want  Cas to beg? Or pay for it after all? Castiel’s stomach growls and calls him a  moron for not going home to the bologna. Now, he’s got to sit here and smell  this food and be this close to a guy he’s never ever going to have until Dean  has mercy and takes him home.

Dean pulls into an abandoned parking lot overlooking the woods. He carries  both bags to a broken picnic table. Famished, Cas sighs and follows. He’ll beg  if he has to.

But Dean hands over the sandwich and starts eating, apparently unaware of  the masses of food that escape his mouth while he talks. Castiel has to look  away in order to protect his own appetite.

Dean never stops talking: about how he met Cassie, and how she made him  work, and wait so long to get her. Cas bites the inside of his mouth and yelps at  the pain. 

“She’s hot, right?” Dean takes another huge bite. “So, what do you like? What do you find hot?”

It’s easier to answer what Cas doesn’t like. There’s something attractive about  anybody. For example, Dick Roman is gorgeous and he’s Castiel’s father,  probably. But the Winchester family has the highest concentration of stunning  people he’s ever met in one place.

“Well,” Cas says, because Dean is still waiting. “Jo’s pretty, but she has kind  of a mean streak.”

“Jo?” Dean drops his sandwich. “No, no, no. Cassie has a mean streak. Jo  Harvelle is freaking crazy. Did you know that she tried to take her father’s head  off with a turkey carver?”

Why would anyone ever do anything like that?

“Do you see this?”

Cas leans closer to examine the scar on Dean’s brow.

“I’m trying to be friendly and that nutty bitch headbutts me,” Dean says. “I’m telling you to stay away from her.”

“So, she has a different dad?”

“She’s full-on adopted, man. Biggest mistake my mother ever made,” Dean  shakes his head and comforts himself with another bite. “You didn’t know that?”

Another mystery solved.

“The other two, the little ones, too. Sad stories.” Dean swallows before he continues, “Jesus Loves the Little Children, Cas. Sometimes their parents don’t. Anyway, I think it’s great, that Mary does what she can for them.” 

“And Sam?”

“Sammy’s a little cutie, isn’t he?” Dean smirks, send Cas’ train of thought way off the tracks.

“It’s all right, man. You’re safe,” Dean says, mid-chew. “Hell, I’m the one that said it, and he’s my little brother. That kid is hot as fuck.

Castiel has never talked to anyone but his mother about this Liking Guys stuff. 

“I guess so,” he whispers. “Yeah.”

Dean smiles. “Fuck yeah, he is. And between you and me, the little fucker is hung, too.”

A nooses springs to mind. Castiel frowns in confusion.

“Big dick,” Dean clarifies. “ I mean like … And he’s not even finished growing. That kid is going to hurt somebody someday. Could be you.”

Cas chuckles and squirms at the surplus information Dean so willingly provides. 

“Used to be close as Hell. Just me and him against the world, you know.”

Cas ignores the twinge of jealousy.

“Then, he just…” Dean shrugs, tosses the rest of the story into the air and swift-shifts the subject. “There’s this guy at my job with a dick you would not believe. I swear it looks like a skin colored zucchini.” 

Dean has a slog of his soda.

“Where do you work?”

Dean laughs and nearly chokes on his drink. “Eager beaver, huh?” 

“No. Just curious.” Cas had been trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, curious.”

It’s time to shut up. This is a dodgy topic, even if Dean did bring it up. 

“What would you do with a zucchini dick?” Dean asks.

Cas’ mouth falls open and only air leaks out. Dean licks his lips and nods.

“Well, I work at Food Lion during the week, GasCo on Route 15 on weekends.

Fixing cars. I’m telling you - this dick, Cas. You won’t believe it.”

Cas ekes out a breathy laugh. Dean Winchester is making him feel things, in  his chest, and in the rest of his body. Private things he’s only allowed to feel  when he’s in his room sneaking on the internet. 

What is he doing out here anyway? Dean has a girlfriend, of course. At best,  this is how Dean passes a boring afternoon, goofing around with little kids.  Plumping them up and trying to make them talk about sexy stuff so he can  laugh about it, now or later.

Cas clears his throat and leaps headlong at another topic change.  “You work a  lot?”

Dean’s eyes narrow at Cas in a funny way, like he’d done at dinner when no  one was looking. The way that puts lead in Castiel’s stomach sink and fills his  chest with helium.

“My mom had three jobs,” Cas squeaks as a Hail Mary.

He hasn’t told anybody out here about his mom. Well, nothing true anyway.

“What actually happened to her?”

Cas opened this can of worms. He needs to slam it shut before he starts  bawling his eyes out like the other night. 

“I don’t know,” he admits before he can stop himself. 

Dean tosses his legs over the picnic bench. “Maybe that’s lucky.”

There’s a silver lining. There’s a sky of silver, twinkling with 24-carat  stars all because of Dean Winchester. Cas blushes at his own stupid thought  while Dean stands and lights a cigarette.  Which will kill you.

“Yeah, that Sammy’s a cutie all right.” Dean nods. “A beautiful, little holier than thou shit with a stick up his ass where other things should be. Don’t waste your time with either of those losers, Cas.”

No one in their school would call Sam or Jo a loser. 

“You can hang out with them. In fact, you should. Yeah, that’s brilliant.” Dean holds up a finger. “You get real chummy with one or the other, but not both. No one will believe that.”

He scratches his chin with the hand holding the cigarette. 

“Your best bet is Jo,” he says.

Dean has already told him to avoid her. Why is he changing his advice now?

“She’s a little intense,” Cas uses the nicest word he can find. Bully and bitch also apply. “I don’t think she likes me very much.” 

“She doesn’t like people, Cas, but she enjoys having sissies around.”

Well, that wasn’t very nice. Castiel scoffs. 

“Excuse me, macho man.”

It isn’t worth the argument. Cas’ strength is never going to be physical. And he isn’t a genius like Sam. He’s an observer. The only thing Jo has for him is a  death wish.

“She pushed me into traffic.”

Dean laughs. “No shit?”

It’s not exactly funny. Castiel folds up his sandwich trash. It’s time to get home. This whole day has been too weird. Dean Winchester is weird. Cas is weird, too, but at least he doesn’t go around confusing people. 

“Look, don’t be offended,” Dean says. “It just means you’re worthy prey.”  
  



	9. Chapter 9

It’s going to be dark soon. Yet, Dean meets Cas’ request to go home with a puzzled, almost hurt look.

“You not having fun?”

Cas shrugs and glances at the car.

“All right. All right. Let’s go for a little walk, first.”

Castiel would rather just go, but he follows Dean past the warning signs about hunting season and over gnarled roots and fallen leaves.

“Used to run around these woods with Sammy,” Dean says over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. Nobody else ever comes out here.”

That gives Cas a chill. Nobody knows he’s out here. Cassie saw him with Dean, but she just met Cas, doesn’t know him and would hate him if she knew how Cas feels about her boyfriend.

How does Cas feel? Weird and swollen with want.

He stumbles over a root and squeaks. Dean glances back with a chuckle.

“You need me to hold your hand?” He says, but he doesn’t mean it.

A few minutes later, Castiel stops in the path, sneering at a squirrel, waiting until it crosses.

“What is your deal?” Dean asks.

“I don’t like animals.”

“What?”

Dean heard. Cas doesn’t bother repeating himself.

“Not even dogs?”

“Are dogs animals?”

“What kind of creep doesn’t like animals?”

Castiel, the creep, rolls his eyes and walks past Dean.  

“So, what are you going to do, have them all exterminated?”

If Cas could live in a critter-free world, he might, but Dean isn’t asking a real question, so again, Cas doesn’t answer.

“I guess you could, right?” Dean says. “Since all this is yours. Have somebody come back here and just wipe out all the wildlife.”

“What?”

“But that would be a pretty fucked up thing to do.”

“Why’d did you say this is mine?”

“Well, not yours, yet,” Dean explains. “Your dad. Roman.”

There’s that Harry Potter feeling again, tugging at Cas’ insides. Like discovering a Gringotts debit card in your otherwise empty wallet.

Dean tosses his cigarette butt onto the dry leaves in Castiel’s forest. “Is that guy completely nuts, or what?”

“No,” Cas says. “He’s nice. Mostly.”

“What is mostly?”

“I mean…” Castiel should have kept his mouth shut.

“Does he hurt you?”

“No, he’s just… a little scary, but dads are supposed to be scary, right?”

“You want me to scare him back for you?”

Dean is full of hot air, and other stuff. He leaps across a creek too wide for Cas to cross and holds out his arms as if he would catch his little friend. Warmth snakes up Castiel’s chest, but rather than jump and risk Dean backing away in laughter, he rolls his eyes.

And Dean walks away and leaves him there.

Cas turns around and starts trudging back, praying to find the car and not an ax murderer.

“Hey. Where you going?”

Dean has mucked up his shirt in the process of muscling a fallen tree over the creek. Cas dashes back and holds his arms wide to balance as he crosses. He trips in anyway, making his left shoe and sock sopping wet. Meanwhile, Dean forages in the water and finds a creepy lobster thing to stick in Castiel’s face.

Cas shrieks, swats at it and runs. Dean howls with laughter and gives chase.

When Castiel’s lungs burn for air, he stops for rest behind a tree. He yelps again when Dean catches him around the middle and swings him off his kicking legs.

Dean finally drops him and Cas doesn’t even try to stand. He closes his eyes and bats his fists.

“Please don’t put that thing on me.”

Dean laughs. “I don’t have it. I swear. I put it back.”

Cas peels open one eye and then the other. He stands and dusts his damp, cold ass.

Dean shakes his head as he lights another smoke. “It’s just a crayfish, you little psycho.”

“It’s not funny.”

Doesn’t Dean know that smoking is going to kill him? Does he know how insanely hot he looks doing it? Probably.

“Want a drag?”

Cas shakes his head. Dean holds the cigarette to his lips anyway.

When Castiel squirrels away, Dean puffs again, rubs his smoke out on a tree before dropping it into his breast pocket.

“So, what about me?”

Castiel squints. Dean the talkiest, most confusing person he’s ever met.

“What do you think of me?” He peels back a sleeve, flexes, and kisses his bicep. “You like?”

Cas chuckles and adjusts his stance to keep his body in check.

“Well? What do you think of me, Cas?”

It’s a trap. If Cas tells the truth, Dean is going to laugh at him.

“You’re, um…”

“Good enough,” Dean says. “Come here.”

Castiel wavers on his feet like a sapling in strong wind. Dean’s hand curves around his skull.

“I like you, Cas.” He taps Castiel’s silent mouth. “Do you like me?”

Cas can’t even breathe. How is he supposed to answer?

“We can be really good friends to each other, don’t you think?”

Then, Dean Winchester kisses Castiel’s parted lips.

“You like that?”

Cas would like not to faint, but his knees are not reliable. Dean chuckles and lifts him, twirling to press Castiel’s back against a tree. He sniffs Cas’ neck, his breath tickles like crazy.

“You smell good.”

Dean licks Castiel’s throat and all the blood in Cas’ brain races south. Cas’ legs are around Dean’s waist, ankles clasped at his back. His ass is in Dean’s hands. Arms locked around his neck. It’s perfect, except that if Dean lets go, Cas will fall.

“You taste good, too,” Dean says. “Salty like chips”

Cas giggles, headlight as a hydrogen bomb as Dean lets him the sweat on his lips. Kind of gross.

“How could any guy ever look at you and not want to bust a nut right in that mouth?”

What a nasty thing to say. Castiel floats on the filth and one of Dean’s arms, as Dean’s other hand eels its way down the back of Cas’ jeans. Fingertips pry between his crack.

Cas shuts his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“You all right?”

Cas can’t breathe, but otherwise good.

“You want to see how I taste, Castiel?”

Castiel wants anything Dean wants him to want, as long as Dean keeps kissing his neck, babbling nonsense. Cas laughs, and shivers, and wants.

Then, all of a sudden, he’s back on his unsteady feet, knees buckling from the sudden drop.

Dean backs away and Cas’ body yearns toward him like a magnet.

But Castiel’s new north isn’t leaving, he’s pointing. Dean holds a finger to his mouth to warn Cas quiet. Now Dean’s hand slides to the small of his back, as he creeps away, deeper into the trees.

In the span of a heartbeat, Cas sees the kid and their eyes lock. Dean turns, raises a gun and shouts, “Hey!”

The kid drops his shovel and bolts a few yards. Dean fires and sends him toppling forward to the ground.

Castiel’s heart stops. He’s not dead, but someone is, lying in the dirt, bleeding out. Dean runs over and kicks the body, flipping it over.

“You little shit,” he spits on the ground beside the corpse’s head. “The fuck are you doing back here?”

Cas stands where he is, trembling. This is the time to flee. Who cares what direction the car is? Dean is an insane person, with a gun tucked back in the back of his jeans. He produces a smoke from his shirt pocket and screams, “Cas, get over here.”

It’ll be a moment before Castiel can make his wobbly legs walk in any direction. When they do, he needs to go the other way, find the road, flag down help. Most importantly, get away from Dean. But if he runs, what’s to stop Dean from shooting him. And if he runs away, will Dean ever talk to him again?

Somehow, Castiel’s feet carry him toward the man who just shot somebody in the back. Somebody small, maybe Cas’ age or a little older.

By the time Cas reaches them, the other kid is sitting upright on the ground.

“You’re meeting the whole Robinson clan today, aren’t you?” Dean flicks the butt of his smoke at the sitting kid’s head. “This is Cassie’s little brother, Felix. Out looking for treasure, I guess.”

Felix stares, huge brown eyes wide and stunned as Castiel’s. Dean stoops beside him and whispers, “That’s cool, Fee. Let me know if you find anything.”

He shoves Felix’s forehead and stands again.

“Felix Robinson, this is Castiel. Say hey.”

Cas breathes a syllable. Felix remains silent until Dean kicks his hand.

“Don’t be an asshole, Felix. Say hello to my friend.”

“Hey.”

“Felix and me and his brother Flip used to get into a lot of good trouble together, didn’t we?”

From the looks of Felix, all the trouble wasn’t so good.

“Then their mom married this shitty cop douche. Little Flip went and ran off. Isn’t that right, Fee?”

Felix sniffs, still sitting on the ground, staring up at Castiel.  

“It’s all right, Felix. We’re still cool man.” Dean offers the kid a fist to pound. “You going to leave me hanging, buddy? Really?”

Felix taps his hand and Dean helps him to his feet.

“Now, fuck off.”

Felix couldn’t move any faster if he’d been shot from a cannon.

“In case you’re wondering,” Dean says. “I’m a better shot than that, but why would anyone ever want to hurt little Feefee, am I right?”

He slaps Cas’ arm.

“Do you know how to shoot?”

Castiel convinces his neck muscles to shake his head, grateful that he used the bathroom at the sandwich shop. It’s a wonder he still didn’t piss himself.

“Want me to show you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Some other time.” Dean places his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, guiding him back the way they came. “It’s starting to get dark, isn’t it?”

  
  


***

  


When they arrive at the house, the sun is beginning to set, leaving purple-pink streaks across the sky. The lion statues paw at either side of the wrought iron gate where Dean idles his baby.

“Look at this place,” he says. “What’s it like in there? What kind of stuff?”

There was probably a wealth of valuable information, but that’s not what Dean means. There’s probably money, too. Maybe even a safe, but Cas hasn’t looked for anything like that.

“You want to come in and check it out?”

Introducing Dean to Roman will be like conducting a chemistry experiment.

“Maybe another time, hot stuff.”

Cas leans over the seat for his backpack and Dean pats his ass. Castiel sits again, clutching his bag to his chest. If he could have one more kiss, he’d be sure this day was real.

Dean isn’t necessarily a good person, but he doesn’t mean to be awful.

Should Castiel kiss him, or if he sits here long enough will Dean do it? Maybe Cas should think of a sexy line from a movie.

“He’s some kind of retard, right? Your dad.”

Castiel cringes.

“I mean, that’s the legend,” Dean says. “His mom and his dad were twins. When he was like 15, he went nuts and killed them both.”

“That never happened,” Cas replies on automatic.

Dean shrugs. “All I know is your dad is a maniac, and he’s hot as hell, which explains you, I guess.”

It explains nothing. Nothing is explained.

“That’s not even possible,” Cas says, voice squeaky. “People can’t do that. You can’t make babies with your sister. It’s not allowed.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dean smiles. “You’re more appalled by the incest than the murder?”

Of course, Cas is not okay with murder, but he’s heard of it before. This other thing is a game changer.

“So, some people do stuff with other people in their family?”

“Well, technically, it’s illegal.” Dean grins. “But you know how that is. People do whatever the fuck they want. And it’s apparently in your blood.”

Cas’ face contorts as he tries to wrap his mind around it.

“Hey, look, man,” Dean says. “There are worse things.”

Castiel’s brain is buzzing with new questions. Dean’s phone rings. He checks the screen and says, “Hey, I got to scram, kid.”

As Castiel opens the door, Dean offers up a fist bump. So, a kiss is not happening, but somehow it’s not really that important anymore.   



	10. Chapter 10

Castiel lets himself into the silent foyer and listens to his breath a moment under the unlit chandelier. Roman Manor isn’t haunted. It’s just spooky as hell, especially at night.

If Cas knew which room in this maze belonged to his father, he’d march right to that door. And then what?

Lacking an answer to that question, Castiel gropes in the dark and makes his way to the kitchen.

Rule #8. Clean After Yourself

“It’s the most important thing,” Meg had said. “Leave things as you find them. Your father is very particular about order.”

If Dick Roman is his father, Castiel wants all of him. His care, his anger, his full attention.

Where to even start? There has to be a formula or spell for summoning a demon. And that’s what Castiel wants, isn’t it? To draw his father’s wrath again. To draw any reaction from the man at all.  

Cas slides open a drawer and removes a silver butter knife. He studies the thing for a second and then sets it on the counter and closes the drawer.

_You can make a better mess than that._

Cas dumps the entire clanging contents of the drawer onto the floor. He stands, in the middle of the pile of silverware, breathing like a train, gripping his pants leg as he awaits his doom.

Five minutes later, there’s still no sign of Roman. So, Castiel sighs and orders the knives, dinner and dessert forks and spoons as they were, grateful that Meg had explained why there were so many.

He’s about to abandon his entire stupid dragon-spiting plan when the roll of paper towels catches his eye. Castiel tears off a single sheet. As he creeps to his room, he tears off a strip at a time, balls it in his fist and stoops to place it on the floor, leaving a trail as he absentmindedly chants, “Loves me. Loves me not.”

At any moment Roman could leap out of a corner and choke the life from his body. But Castiel survives to his bedroom, undresses and sits up in the middle of his bed, waiting.

Still, nothing happens, so he curls up under his blankets and stuffs his hand down his shorts. Cas tries not to jerk too often, or too hard, and not to make the sessions too long, ever since he heard about a guy who sprained his joystick. True story.

Plus, you can never tell about all this God stuff. In case there is a Hell and sins is a real thing, Cas racked up quite a few letting Dean Winchester stick his fingers down there. Not as many sins as Dean, because it was his idea. But Dean will either go straight to Hades when he dies, or get a free pass for looking so smooth while he was breaking the rules.

Anyway, all that kissing and sniffing and licking is fresh in mind and there’s no way to keep his hands off himself. Heat rolls around Castiel’s veins, pooling low in his gut until the vicious-sweet tension bursts into mush.

Three hours later, Castiel pries one eye open and finds his hand crusted to the inside of his underwear.

That’s not his biggest problem.

Roman stands over him with a sheathed knife on his belt and his hand clenched in a fist. Castiel’s heart sinks through the mattress.

It worked. His father came right to him. Castiel hadn’t thought his plan out this far, but he wants to scream, ‘Hallelujah.’

Roman pinches his nose shut. Now, Castiel does scream.

He grips his father’s wrist, but isn’t this what he wants? Roman’s full attention.

Castiel subdues the instinct to fight and grants authority over his body. He lays perfectly still. Whatever his father wants, Cas will be. Whatever he takes, Cas will give.

Castiel gasps for air and his father stuffs a wad of paper towel into his mouth. Then he smothers Castiel’s face with both hands, grinding his head into the pillow. Even as the tears flood his eyes, Castiel’s body burns with a desire to submit to a higher will than his own. To die, if his father wants.   



	11. Chapter 11

Saturday morning, Castiel wakes with the sun, but he lays in bed for hours with daydreams stirring fire and ice in his blood. Dean’s lip, full and puckered draw long and become Roman’s, thin with rage. Dean’s warm hand on Castiel’s neck squeezes, shakes and shoves Cas down onto the dry leaves that cover a strange bed. Roman climbs on top of him and the bed dissolves into the forest floor.

No. Castiel needs to avoid Dean Winchester for the rest of time. There’s enough confusion dealing with his father. And Dean does dirty, butt things. He put his fingers down there, and Cas almost let him.

Eventually, Castiel loses the battle with his bladder and scuttles to the bathroom. Before his stream starts, he spots a streak of movement through the window. At first glance, it’s a deer. Castiel’s foggy brain course corrects to reveal Dick Roman streaking across the yard with his cocktapus flapping in the dawn air. The man is buck naked except for a pair of black gumboots and a shotgun.

And he is charging down an enemy. Roman’s gun is trained on an overturned statue that lies on its side in the mud, already defeated. Roman holds the weapon in its face, shouting words Castiel can’t hear through the closed window. He doesn’t even want to know.

Then, Roman does an about face and aims at another downed statue and charges. It’s a massacre. All of the sculptures in the yard have been knocked over and poor, naked Roman is their flustered warden.

Breath bated, Castiel backs away from the window, blinks through his options in the matter of a few eternal seconds.

First of all, if everyone has a gun, Cas needs one of those.

He could go outside, try to help his lunatic father: pick up his toys and bring him in the house. It can’t be warm; Roman should at least have a coat. Of course, if Cas takes one out there, he’s begging to get shot.

Okay, Roman is nuts, but he’s not going to shoot his son.

Cas takes another peek through the window. Pretty soon, that anguish on Roman’s face will be anger, and he’ll need someone to blame. Cas will be a prime culprit after last night’s paper towel performance. Of course, there’s no way he could have pushed down all those status alone, but that doesn’t matter. Roman isn’t exactly Captain Rational.

He’s going to go ballistic and Cas is not ready for another explosion. Last night was good in a way too intense way. It’s going to take some time to process and understand what he wants from his father before he faces the man again.

If the last two weekends are any indication, Meg will arrive at noon. Cas could lock himself in his room and pray that Roman doesn’t come looking for him before then. Or he can hop into his jeans and a sweater, tiptoe out of the back door and wish he had his bike.

He doesn’t look back or slow down until the manor is out of view.

 

***

 

Once again, Castiel’s bike is in the hands of a Winchester. He sprints down the wooded road but slows to a slog once he sees the houses. No rush now. He’s safe, with nowhere to go.

The attempt to call his mom results in the same outgoing message: phone disconnected. He’ll give it one more week. And then what? If he calls Meg, she’ll tell Roman.

The other option is the Police. It’s been on the table since Day One, but what if Cas is wrong and there’s nothing weird about this? Worst case, they’ll take him from his father

(if that’s what Roman is) and stick him in a foster home.

Castiel knows foster kids. That’s not a good situation. At least it’s a cushy setup with Roman And maybe he’s Castiel’s dad, maybe he isn’t. If he is, Cas is destined to run naked through the yard, shooting at statues. If not, why the hell is Castiel here?

He could go to the Winchesters for a little while. Mary would let him in if he knew how to get there, or even had the address. Cas presses his nose to one of the windows with the earlybird fathers and receives visions of Saturday morning cartoons with pancakes. His stomach groans that he could have grabbed a bagel.

Hours later, Castiel’s sore feet drag past a convenience store. His stomach speaks again, protesting the breakfastless morning with loud, crampy moans. This store would be very convenient if he had a couple of dollars in his pocket. It ought to be called a desperation store.

He cringes at the bell over the door, but the woman behind the counter is too involved in her magazine to acknowledge him.

This might work.

Under normal circumstances, Castiel wouldn’t do this kind of thing, if only to avoid the trouble. But it’s nearly noon and he’s as close to starvation as he’s ever been.

He could go home. Roman is probably calm again. Or Meg is there to hold the madman at bay. Either way, Cas could apologize about the paper towel stunt, proclaim his innocence with the statues, and have his Froot Loops in peace.

But that plan costs another t o-hour hike that Cas wouldn’t survive. So he slinks around the GasCo, hungrily side-eyeing honey roasted peanuts and Twizzlers. He chews his nails and reaches for the spicy Combos.

“Hey!”

His incriminating hand snaps back and his insides melt.

“What the hell you doing here?”

That’s Castiel’s the question for Dean.

“Thought you were in the mountains with Scary.”

Dean smirks and Castiel’s shoulders loosen. Yesterday was a joke to Dean.

“You want some of these?” He grabs a few different treats, slams them on the counter and points at Cas. “For my little buddy over there.”

The cashier takes Dean’s cash and Dean presents Castiel with treasures he lacks the inner strength to refuse. Dean ruffles his hair, wraps a hand around Cas’ neck and whispers, “How you doing, baby boy?”

Then he kisses Cas, just a peck really, and just on the ear. But heat ripples through him the same as when Dean held him.

“Glad you came to visit,” Dean says. “Why don’t you come see what I do?”

Hypnotized, and with a mouthful of dissolving pretzels, Cas follows him into the garage.

“Winchester, get that kid out of here.”

“Fuck you, Dodge.”

Dean slaps too-big goggles onto Castiel’s face and leads him to a rusty, gutted car frame..

“Building her up, almost from scratch,” Dean smiles. “I’m going to teach you everything about cars.”

There’s that warm feeling again.

“But not right now,” Dean says. “I got two more hours on the clock. You can go up the street and wait for me at Micky Ds, or I’ll come around your dad’s and grab you in a bit.”

“Is my bike still in your trunk?”

Dean shakes his head. “I put it back in the shed.”

“Then, can I wait here?”

Dean chuckles. “Sure, kid, but you got to stay on that stool over there til I’m done and don’t move a muscle.”

Cas locks down his muscles and Dean plants a mock right hook on his chin.

He’s not bad. Why did Cas ever think he was bad? He’s a good person who feed good things to hungry boys, and teaches people about cars.

Castiel’s feet swing while he watches Dean and eats Combos.

After a while, a guy passes and swats Dean’s ass with a filthy rag. Dean bangs his head on the hood as he stands to confront his attacker. He rubs his skull and grins.

“Cas, this is the guy, Red, I was telling you about.”

Red’s giant, greasy hand swallows Castiel’s and ruins it for finishing his finger food breakfast. Cas forces his eyes away from the man’s crotch.

“Another one?”

Dean eyes narrow. “This is Roman’s kid.”

“No shit?” Red frowns in admiration and surveys Castiel.

“Cas say hey.”

“Hey,” Cas says.

Another guy yells,” So are we running a preschool here or what?”

Red keeps strolling. Once he’s gone, Dean lowers his voice. “You want to see it?”

_It?_

Castiel’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head.  

“Don’t be scared, buddy. Go wait in the bathroom for me.”

Cas’ guts wind up tight, but he hops off the stool and does as he’s told. It’s a bad, dumb, stupid idea, but also how big is big? What’s it going to hurt to look?

He opens the bathroom door and freezes. Red is at the urinal. The big man looks at him and shows his bad teeth. Before Castiel can back out, Dean slides into the tiny space and blocks the door with a steel trash can.

Castiel’s heart beats like a baby bird’s. There’s one tiny window, above Red’s head and even if Cas could scramble up there somehow, he’s not sure he’d fit through it.

Dean squeezes his shoulder and Red shakes himself. Castiel turns toward the door, but Dean’s hand tightens.

Flop.

And just like that, Castiel is looking at the largest penis he will ever see in his life. Wider around and longer than his forearm included his fist. It hangs there like a purple elephant’s trunk waiting for a comment.

How does Red even walk? Where does he put it?

Dean gives a little shove. “You want to touch?”

No. No. Hell no. It never even would have occurred to Cas.

The thing is twitching to life, raising its mushroom head to get a better look at the curious boy, frozen still as a killed cat.

“It’s all right,” Red says. “Spits, but don’t bite.”

Castiel steps back and bumps into Dean, close enough to feel that Dean is hard, too. Cas could beg and fight, but he couldn’t even dent one of these men. There’s nothing in this bathroom that would make a good weapon.

His only choice is to do it and get it over with.

Do what? What do they want him to do? Touch that thing? Red grins like the devil. Both of Dean’s hands are on Cas’ shoulders. Castiel should have stayed at home.

“It’s okay, buddy. You don’t have to.” Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ trembling belly. “You never got to be scared of nothing, baby. I got you, you hear?”

Dean kisses on his neck as Red sucks his teeth and puts himself away. He rolls aside the trashcan and shoves out of the bathroom.

Dean is still holding Castiel tight, rocking him side to side.

“It’s all right. Red is cool. He’s not going to say anything.” Dean kisses his ear. “But we have to be careful, don’t we? You can’t just show up everywhere you think I might be.”

“I didn’t —”

Dean’s arms constrict and Cas stops arguing.

“I need you to be smarter than that.” Dean squeezes and murmurs, “I need you to do that for me, because I’ll miss you like hell if I have to go to prison.”

Dean sucks on his earlobe and Castiel gasps at the foreign fingers worming into his shorts.

No one has ever touched him there.

Except maybe his mom when he was a baby.

Probably that, but no one, ever, this.

“You all right, baby?”

There isn’t a simple answer to that question. Castiel is dizzy, his limbs are limp, a glitter bomb just went off in his guts. He whimpers through what Dean does to him:  the tugging of his baby manaconda and the juicy kisses on the back of his neck. That bomb implodes to a tiny quivering atom at the base of Cas’ spine and then detonates, blasting gooey shrapnel over Dean’s hand. Castiel grips the arm around his chest to keep from toppling over on his buckling legs.

Dean snickers and kisses Castiel’s cheek.

“I’m going to open my car,” Dean says while he washes his hands. “I want you to crawl in the back and take a nap. You got a long night ahead, don’t you?”


	12. Chapter 12

When the car door shuts Castiel opens his eyes and sits up.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.”

Dean tosses back a shrink-wrapped sandwich and waits for Castiel to take the Coke. They’re parked outside of his house and Dean instructs Castiel to stay low while he runs in for a shower.

“Just don’t feel like explaining.”

That kind of makes sense, although Castiel would rather come inside. He peeks up at the house number and the street sign: 614 Wimbly Court. That’s good to know next time he needs someplace.  

It isn’t long before Dean returns in a cloud of cologne dense enough to choke his stowaway. At the corner, Castiel sits up and asks, “Where are we going?”

“You trust me?”

Cas’ nods is mostly true. Dean could drive over a cliff, into a tree or skid off a bridge and what could Castiel do about it? 

“Then, I’ll drive,” Dean says. “You just sit back there and be beautiful.”

One thing Castiel knows is that he isn’t beautiful. Funny looking, goofy, dopey. And beside Dean Winchester, he’s pitiful, pathetic, unworthy. The compliment leaves a dent and bounces off.  Dean turns on the music and sings along, smiling at Cas in the rearview mirror.

“Hey, what’s that face?”

Castiel lays down on the backseat so Dean can’t see whatever face he’s making.

Dean, unlike Castiel, is pure beauty: his eyes, smile, the freckles. The warmth of his hands, growl of his voice, his strong arms. 

Dean howls along with a guitar solo, forcing Castiel to smile against his will.

Once parked, Dean hops around to the trunk. Cas crawls over the seats and checks in the mirror. Nope, still the same loser. He pulls his hair over his face.

Dean taps a baseball bat on the rear passenger window and  tosses the ball into the air.

Cas closes the door but doesn’t step forward. “I can’t play.”

Better to admit it now than wait for Dean to see and laugh. Jerry tried to play catch with Cas and gave up after ten minutes. Not everyone’s an athlete.

“You’re fine,” Dean says.

“Really, I’m no good.”

“It’s easy. I’ll teach you.”

Without warning, Dean lobs the ball. Castiel squeaks and swats it away. As expected, Dean throws back his head and roars. Castiel’s face heats, but before he can march away, Dean crooks an arm over his shoulders. 

“God, you’re hilarious.”

If Dean thought that was funny, he’ll split his sides when Cas gets hold of the bat. Dean picks up the ball and whistles as he strides down the street. 

Must be so easy to be him. 

Eventually, Dean picks a yard and lets Cas swing the bat a few times, giving him pointers on torque. He even stations himself behind Castiel and twists with him, belly warm against Cas’ back, like it was in that bathroom. Cas’ body responds to the memory and the heat. 

“Don’t just let me swing,” Dean scolds. “You try it.”

Castiel tries it and finds he doesn’t suck as bad at controlling the bat as he had when he played with Jerry. With a little practice, maybe he could even get the hang of this.

Next, Dean suggests a kindergarten game where they start toe to toe. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Cas angles back his head and Dean smacks his head.

“What did I say about careful?”

No one is outside, but Dean is always right. Castiel drops his face, accepts the ball and steps back. He catches the first toss and the second. 

“Good.”

Cas’ heart blooms at the praise and he catches again.

“Hey, whose yard is this anyway?” He asks. 

Dean barks, “Pay attention.”

“Do you know these people?”

“Fucking let me drive, Castiel.”

Cas tucks his chin to his chest, nods and misses the next catch.

He only asked because of the huge NO TRESPASSING signs on the gate at the manor. Some people take that stuff very seriously. There aren’t any signs in this yard, but they could go to his house and play.

“You ready for this?”

Dean tosses the ball into the air, and bats it through a window with a horrifying crash.

Castiel ducks. 

“Holy shit.” 

He’s seen that kind of thing in movies. But this isn’t Dennis the Menace. It’s real life, and Dean just broke somebody’s window. On purpose. And he’s just standing here, grinning about it.

Why is Castiel surprised? This was the same hoodlum who slashed that tire between drags on his cigarette. The same criminal who shot at that kid.

Cas would be halfway down the street if Dean would let go of his shirt.

“Hey, calm down,” Dean says. “Pull yourself together. You’re going to go in and get it.”

“What?”

“The door is unlocked, baby. You’re going to go inside and get your ball.”

“You’re crazy. You can’t just walk into people’s houses.”

Incredulous as he is, Cas can’t even shake his head it’s trapped between Dean’s hands. 

“Yeah, you can. You’re fine. I want you to do this for me. Okay?”

“What if they have a gun? What if—”

“Castiel, you’re fine. I got you. All you have to do is go in and get your ball.”

“It’s not even my ball.”

Crack. 

The slap stings long after it’s over. Castiel sucks in a quick breath.

“Don’t make me do that again.”

Cas nods.

“Touch fucking everything,” Dean says. “If you run into anybody, say your family just moved in across the alley. Say that you knocked and rang. Just wanted to get your ball. And offer lawn services.”

“What?”

Dean is insane. Cas can see that now.

“Tell them you mow grass and rake leaves and shit.”

“I don’t even live around here.”

Dean smacks him again. “You keep them talking. And you keep your eyes wide so they can see those pretty baby blues.”

“Come on, Dean. I can’t go in there.”

“Castiel.” Dean grabs a fistful of Cas’ hair. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, but so help me, if you ever tell me no again I’m going to wreck your face.”

Dean shoves and Castiel drags his feet to the house. When no one answers he uses the hem of his shirt to turn the knob. It’s unlocked, just as Dean promised. 

Castiel glances back, curses and tiptoes inside. He whispers, “hello” and receives no reply.

The ball must have landed in the living room. Castiel’s feet and his heart halt when he sees the ancient corpse in a rocking chair. 

Dean snuck in earlier and killed her. Now, he’s framing Cas for it. Castiel should have seen something like this coming. He’s going to spend his life in jail, all for kissing Dean Winchester.

The corpse snorts and Castiel holds in the scream with his hands. Gripping his chest to keep his manic heart inside, he swipes the ball and darts from the living room. He doesn’t look back until he’s two blocks away, quaking in Dean’s passenger seat.

“That was perfect. You’re perfect.” Dean shakes a coffee can, rattling the loose coins against the bottom. “Honeymoon money.”   
  



	13. Chapter 13

Dean’s music is up so loud he can’t hear the first two times. So, Castiel taps the power button. For a moment, Dean’s baying bounces off the windshield then stops.

“Can you take me home, please?”

“I need a break, Cas. It’s been a long fucking day.”

“Fine,” Castiel says. “Take a break after you take me home.”

Dean’s nostrils flare with his next inhale. “You trying to upset me?”

“No, I just—”

“You what?”

Does Cas even have to say it? It’s crazy to say it, but he has to: “That was a crappy thing you just did.”

“Was it now?” Dean glances out of his window. “And what is it you think I did?”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean.”

“You sure?”

“Well, you look like an asshole who steals from old ladies,” Cas says, shocking them both silent for a moment.

Dean chews on the inside of his cheek, apparently deciding whether to kill Castiel now or later. Cas folds his arms and sinks low in his seat until Dean steers the car into the parking lot of a motel.

“Where are we?”

“I will take you home,” Dean says. “Later.”

“You shouldn’t have —”

“You know what I just did.” Dean parks and jerks Cas’ shirt. “I relieved an old lady of exactly $86 that she probably forgot she had. Couple pieces of jewelry collectively not worth more than a hundred bucks. She’s going to croak within a year and it’s less shit for her kids to fight about. I’m doing everybody a favor, including me and you.”

He releases Cas and rustles a necklace out of the coffee can. When Dean tries to drape it around Castiel’s neck, Cas snakes away.

“Don’t be like that.”

Dean drops the necklace into the can and shuts it tight. He pinches Castiel’s lobe and Cas swats him away.

“Listen, dear old Delores will never notice that anything is gone. But on the off chance she does, the only person she’s had contact with with all week was me on Thursday with her meal and some cute, little blue-eyed boy today. The prints will turn up nada… Wait, you don’t have a record, do you? God, tell me you don’t have a record.”

Castiel should say he does, just to teach Dean a lesson.

“Of course not.” Dean laughs and punches his arm.

“Why do you do it? It’s not like you need the money?

“Spoken like a true rich kid.”

“I’m not rich.”

“Your dad is.”

“He’s not…” Castiel sighs. “I don’t know if he’s really my dad.”

Spoken out loud, it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He just needed to let himself see that. Dick Roman is not Castiel’s father. He’s some kind of crazy who stole him, for what? And where is Castiel’s mom?

“How do you know?”

“For one thing, he’s not much older than you.”

“I’m old enough to be your father.”

Castiel squints to see his way through Dean’s nonsense. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” Castiel says. “You’re what, eighteen?”

“Nineteen next month.”

“You would have been, like, six.”

“Well, maybe I wasn’t old enough back then, but I am now.”

That makes no sense and it’s not worth arguing. Cas’ day has been long too. A couple hours sleep would do him good.

Dean runs a hand over his flawless hair and nods at his reflection in the rearview mirror before he strides into the lobby. Cas waits in the passenger’s seat, holding Dean’s claim to the light in search of holes. He’s probably right that the old lady won't miss the money, but does that make it okay?

Dean opens Castiel’s door and directs him up a flight of sticky stairs, past a skinny lady with leather for skin, holding a cigarette over the railing. Soon, her two inches of ash will crumble off the end into the parking lot below, setting fire to someone’s hair. Otherwise, the whole rusty rail will give in and she’ll topple over the side, with her slip flaying up over her stick legs. Something bad is going to happen. That lady looks like Death.

Dean smacks his ear. “Quit staring.”

He pushes Cas into the motel room and slams the door on the bony’s lady’s smoke and her sunken, curious gaze. Dean flicks on the TV and plops onto the bed with his ankles crossed.

“Chinese good?”

Castiel’s toes curl in his shoes. The place is a filthy mess. There’s stains everywhere and the sheets don’t look like they’ve been changed in three guests.  

“Sit down.”

Cas takes the least amount of space possible at the end of the bed, beside Dean’s musty sock feet.

“How do you know they’re not after us?”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“I’m serious. Half the police department could be outside of the building in, like, ten minutes.”

Dean sighs and shows a map on his phone with blue cars and red, yellow and orange dots. He thumbs to another page with a list of codes. It might as well be Greek.

“Police activity,” Dean explains and lays back on the pillow. “They’re no where near here. No robberies reported. Now, put something good on?”

Criminals don’t kill you if you’re useful. Cas kneels in front of the ancient television, changing channels when he should run. Where’s he going to go? And how is he supposed to get there?

His current options are to get comfortable and hope Dean shares his food, or to keep being a pest. Awful as Dean Winchester is, he’s the closest thing Cas has to a friend in the entire world.

Castiel flips past a talk show, weather, some black and white movie, and lands on a British guy talking about sharks. Below that soundtrack, Dean orders egg foo yung.

Then he inches down the bed behind Cas. His hand snakes around Castiel’s chest and tilts up his chin.

“We’re going to be so good together, aren’t we?”

Dean lays a path of kisses from Castiel’s mouth down to his collar. Then, he tugs off the t-shirt and slobbers on his shoulder.

“What happened here?”

“Dog,” Cas says without looking at his scar. “When I was, like, four.”

“Shit.” Dean cups his zipper. “You’re so pale.”

Cas stiffens. His skin is cheese compared to Cassie. She’s a glamorous beauty queen, even in her deli uniform. Castiel is a sickly looking, starved albino rat with a black mop on its head.

“Hey,” Dean blows the word into his ear and Cas shudders, too close to tears. “I like it. I like you. You’re pretty much perfect, aren’t you?”

It’s another unfair lie, but Dean turns Castiel’s head as far as it’ll twist and slides his tongue between Castiel’s teeth, strokes the roof of his mouth. Castiel melts like a jellyfish in his arms.

“Stand up for me.”

“I can’t.” Cas sinks deeper against Dean’s chest.

“Stand up. Come on.” Dean pats his thigh. “I want to see you.”

That’s the last thing Cas wants. He wants to be kissed and kissed and kissed forever. He wants to die with Dean’s soft, full lips on his and his curly tongue swirling around. Cas opens his mouth to receive it and Dean nudges him to his feet.

Castiel stands like a limp noodle, shivering as Dean’s fingertips track trails down his chest.

“That feel good?”

Cas nods.

It’s amazing. Dean’s hands, his eyes on Castiel’s body do very-good, very-bad things to his brain. Things that Dick Roman won’t want him doing.

Cas takes a micro-step back and Dean jerks him forward, clamping his magic mouth around a nipple. Cas’ spine nearly bends back in half over Dean’s arm as he angles for more of the heat coursing beneath Dean’s nipping, licking, sucking.

He tries to shift positions and press his ache against anything, but Dean laughs and pins Castiel’s wrists behind his back. He holds him at a cruel distance and grins like one of those sharks.

“Look at you. Hungry for it.”

Cas struggles to get closer.

“Pretty little slut, aren’t you?”

The horny desperation on Castiel’s face crashes into hurt at Dean’s mean words.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to take care of you,” Dean says, still holding Cas at bay. “Wanted you the first time I saw you, Cassie. Wanted to spread you out on my mother’s kitchen table and give it to you.”

Give him what? All Cas needs is something to hump. Anything. Preferably Dean’s leg, but a pillow will do. Cas strains and lets out a long whine.

“Oh fuck. You want it, don’t you?” Dean licks his lips. “I can’t wait to fuck you, too, baby. Pump you so full of cum…”

Cas stops fighting and stands in suspended motion, struggling internally to wrap his mind around what Dean is saying.

Fuck Cas?

As in

Insert penis into

Where exactly?

In Family Life Education, Mrs. Silber was pretty explicit about how it works: male + female = baby. But even that sounded weirdly unpleasant, if also disgustingly fascinating.

But Dean. He should be old enough to know that two guys can’t

Unless

But that wouldn’t work.

Would it?

And Cas can’t have a baby, and that’s why people have sex, and why guys have to wear rubbers and...

Dean chuckles under his breath. Did Castiel say any of that out loud?

“You’ll like it, I promise.” Dean drops a tiny peck on Cas’ nose. “Unless you’re saving yourself for your dad.”

He laughs, stands and peels off his own shirt. The scent of his sweat and cologne whirls into Castiel’s system. Without intending to, he leans closer, inhales deeper. Dean grabs the back of his skull and mashes Cas’ face into the damp patch of hair under his arm.

It’s too much. Awful. Cas sputters and shoves away. Dean tugs at his belt loops and plasters Castiel’s chest to his hot, clammy belly. Also disgusting.

Cas pushes off. Dean uses the space to step out of his jeans - mercifully leaving on his ominously tented red checked boxers (and the stinky socks). Then, he flips open the top button of Cas’ jeans.

Fuck him?

Would Roman want to do that?

Will Roman hate Cas if he lets Dean do that?

If it even works. It probably won’t, but doesn’t Roman at least deserve first try?

After all, if it’s a family tradition.

But he’s not even Castiel’s dad, is he?

“What are you thinking?” Dean asks as he zips down Castiel’s jeans.

Castiel doesn’t try to answer. It’s family stuff. Private.

“Listen, you don’t have to worry.” Dean tugs a little left and right, smiling as he makes Cas do The Twist. “We got lube and all the time in the world. It’s going to be good, I swear.”

What is even lube? Like Jiffy Lube? What does that have to do with anything?

Dean is messing with his head.

He kneels and pulls Cas’ jeans and underpants to his knees. Chilled, Castiel covers himself with both hands.

“Come on.”

Cas doesn’t need Dean eye to eye with his little pecker. But Dean forces his hands away. Castiel shudders and whines and stares at the wall to keep from crying. Dean pins his hands at the base of his back and studies him.

“You’re adorable, you know that?”

That doesn’t sound like a compliment. How about Remarkable. Impressive.

Dean blows a stream of cold air right onto the tip of Cas’ adorable left-leaning cyclops. Without permission or warning from his brain, Castiel’s hips urge forward.

Dean chuckles. “You want it?”

Cas nods, although he isn’t sure what he wants. To melt, explode, beg, hide?

Dean places Castiel’s hands on his shoulders and engulfs him, bat, balls and all. He pulls off and wipes his mouth.

“You like when I suck your cock, baby?”

Dean does it again and it’s too much. Too good. Castiel yelps and collapses forward with his arms around Dean’s head. His body trembles like a volcano, little cries bursting out: “ oh oh oh oh oh” as he erupts into Dean’s mouth. Legs wobbling, sweat cropping all over.

He just came. (even Cas knows that’s what it’s called). Castiel came into Dean’s mouth. Dean must hate him so much right now. Must think he’s so disgusting. He’ll take Cas home now, all right, and never talk to him again. Maybe he’ll tell Jo and Mrs. Winchester how nasty he is.

But Dean smiles and cleans the corners of his mouth with his fingers. “Nice load, baby.”

Cas’ face twists in confusion. When his brain catches up, his nose curls even further.

“That feel good?”

Cas sighs and shudders again, an aftershock. Gross. He feels gross.

And dead tired.

He starts toward the bed, nearly toppling forward over the forgotten jeans around his ankles. Thankfully, Dean catches and help him undress completely. However, Castiel’s long march to the bed is redirected to the dresser. Cas hisses at the cold wood under his chest, but at least it’s restful with his face on his hands and his

Whoa!

He bolts upright.

With one palm, Dean eases Castiel back onto his stomach.

“It’s all right,” he says. “Just relax. Cas, I got you.”

What Dean has is Castiel’s ass cheek spread open and his face between them.

His face.

Dean Winchester’s face in Castiel’s ass.

A mouthjob is one thing. (Because that’s what it’s called, what Dean just did to him).

Castiel leaps and hoots as something wet touches him down there.

What could be wet?

A tongue? Dean’s tongue?

“That’s so gross.” He pushes away. “That’s so gross.”

“It’s going to help you relax.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean is still on his knees with his pecker in his hand. And it is not similar in size to Castiel’s, let me tell you that. It’s a big old thing. Not a freaking mutant elephant dong like Red’s, but way too big to fit.

“No way.” 

Cas searches for his pants.

“Castiel, I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t trust me anymore?”

Did Cas, at any point, ever trust Dean Winchester? That would be like staring at the sun because it feels warm on your skin. Everybody knows better.

“Please.”

Dean is kneeling. He isn’t making Cas kneel. He’s on the floor, holding his pickle, with a pitiful look on his face.

“Cas, come on. I need you, buddy,” Dean says. “It’s fucking rude to leave a guy hanging like this. I wouldn’t do it to you. I’d give you anything you ask for, I swear. Just fucking get back over here. Please, baby.”

Baby.

Dean drops his head like he’s going to cry. “Please. I need you, Castiel. God. Why are you doing this to me?”

It’s not like Cas wants to hurt Dean’s feelings or anything. He steps closer. Dean strikes like a serpent, pulls Cas closer, hugs his legs and kisses his thighs, jerking himself with his free hand. Once Dean has him, it’s like Castiel isn’t even struggling and begging Dean to wait.

“I’m going to make it so good for you.”

Dean drags Cas to the floor, kisses his cheek before he folds Castiel’s body onto his hands and knees, nose on the floor like a bad puppy.

Dean spits in his hand. Someone knocks on the door.

The food.

Thank God.

Castiel tries to stand. Dean yanks him back, drapes himself over Castiel’s back and slides his hand between Castiel’s cheeks again. It’s weird and uncomfortable, but less gross than the tongue.

 

Knock knock.  

Who’s there?

“Delivery.”

Delivery who?

“China Dynasty.”

 

“Fuck off,” Dean yells and rams a finger into Castiel’s hole.

The pain is so sudden and foreign, Castiel can only gasp. He tries to crawl away, but Dean’s arm is vice-tight around his chest. Cas clings to it, and drops his hands to the floor. If he can just…

He clutches with one hand angling for the best position to support himself while Dean works him over with that finger - in and out. Cas is going to shit on him. He can feel it.

“That’s it.” Dean breathes hot in his hair. “Just got to get you ready.”

Ready? For more than this?

“Dean,” Cas squeaks.

“Yeah, baby. I’m going to give it to you. Don’t worry.”

“Dean.” There’s only air where Castiel’s voice should be.

“Yeah, Cas. That’s my baby boy.”

Castiel sighs as Dean removes his finger. He tries to escape the stink when Dean pinches his chin and angles him for another kiss. Castiel jerks away and tries, again, to put down his foot and stand.

But Dean’s left arm is still a chain around his belly. He gloops something slimy down Cas’ crack and pushes it into him. Now, there’s something bigger than a finger at Cas’ hole. Something impossibly big, trying to get in.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Cas, all right?”

“No,” Castiel murmurs. “No.”

“It’s okay.”

“Dean, please. I’m not. I’m not ready.”

“Yes, you are baby.”

Cas’ body fights valiantly, but one press of Dean’s hips and the battle is lost. Castiel lets out a long, high-pitched whine and then stops, clenching before he shits himself.

It hurts so bad. Like fire. Or a bone saw skewering his ass.

“Holy fuck, baby,” Dean cries out. “Don’t squeeze like that. You’re going to make me come.”

Dean is going to make Castiel shit. The biggest, gnarliest, nastiest hard shit he’s ever suffered. And it’s what that animal deserves, but the mess. Cas can’t with the mess. The thought of it makes him nauseous.

Something tears back there. There’s a familiar salty stink that isn’t shit, though. It must be blood. His stomach rolls, threatening to add vomit to the mix of bodily fluids in the funky carpet.

He squirms in Dean’s arm, pushing to escape the anaconda eating his ass. Dean’s arm pulls so tight around his chest he can barely fill his lungs.

“Dean, please. Stop. It hurts.”

Dean shushes him, grips Castiel’s hip and starts moving, shifting Cas’ certainty that he has to shit into a certainty that Dean is trying to kill him. Castiel tries to say the word (no), but his voice chokes off. There’s only just enough air to live.

He tries to kick back.

“Whoa whoa.”

Dean closes both arms around Cas and crushes tighter, pulling Cas upright on his knees, lifting him off the floor.

“Please. Stop.”

“It’ll get better.”

“Please...”

“Almost over.”

It’s never going to be over. Dean is going to ass-murder Castiel into eternity if he doesn’t do something. Cas tosses back his head, hoping to bust Dean’s lip with his skull.

He connects with something hard. Dean curses, but rather than let him go, he muscles Castiel flat onto his tummy on the filthy, smelly carpet.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Cas,” he growls. “Is that what you want?”

Hurt him, worse than this?

There’s nowhere to go now, but through the floor. No more fight left. Castiel lays with Dean huffing in his ear, pounding his ass. He closes his eyes and lets his muscles hang loose. After a while, the pain becomes a dull throb, but still impossibly, sickeningly full.  

Dean is laying on his back, arms around his chest, riding like a cowboy. Cas groans and takes careful little sips of air.

“That’s it, baby.”

Dean leans up, pins Cas’ neck to the floor and slams home.

No more fighting. It’s almost over. 

“It’s like breaking a horse, right?” Dean pants. “And now you’re mine."

As long as it’s almost over.

Dean picks up the pace, folds his arms over Castiel’s head, smothering him.

Almost over.

Dean lets out a mean roar.

Almost.

He jerks Cas back to his knees, gives him a final bone-cracking squeeze. Then, little at a time, the serpent lets him loose.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Dean kisses Cas’ hair and slaps his thigh. For a long time after he rolls off, Castiel lays on the floor, breathing heavy. Dean stretches out on the bed like the emperor of Naked-town while his goo oozes out of Castiel’s raw hole.

“All right, buddy. Get up.”

Castiel crawls around collecting his clothes. His guts bubble and he runs to kneel over the toilet. The dry heaves just hurt; nothing comes up. At first, Cas avoids his own eyes in the mirror as he dresses. He sits beside the tub with his face buried in his knees, cradling himself although he doesn’t deserve the kindness, even from himself.

Wrecked, ruined, raped. This stuff doesn't happen to boys. He’s what Dean called him: a filthy slut who deserves to be punished more. If only Roman could burst into the room, wring Dean’s neck and carry him home.

Finally ready to face his reflection, Cas winces into the bloodshot and steel blue eyes. He’s the same awkward, funny-looking kid who followed Dean into this motel room. No one will ever see the difference, even if his flesh burns forever in the places where Dean touched, tasted and violated him.

Roman isn’t coming. Cas is damaged, but there’s one thing he can fix. He takes a deep breath, leaves the bathroom and walks out of the motel room, past Dean and the seductive smell of Chinese food.

“Where you going?” Dean asks. “Quit being a little pussy and come eat.”

Castiel gasps in the free air, trips down the sticky, pee-smelling stairs and rummages his empty pockets. His phone must be on the motel room floor. Or in Dean’s car.

And who is he going to call anyway?

Meg? Roman? His mom... again?

He spins in the parking lot and follows the sign to the lobby.

“Can I use your phone, please?”

“You guest?”

“Yes.”

“Which room?”

Cas closes his eyes to recall. All he can see is Dean sprawled on the bed, his cock flumped over his leg, weary from all the plundering.

“It’s an emergency. Please.”

The lady behind the counter rolls her eyes, but eventually responds to increasing hysteria. She turns over the old school land phones. Castiel and dials the 9 before a finger taps it off and carefully removes the receiver from his hand. Castiel’s heart slams itself against his ribs like a wild animal locked in a cage.

“My little brother gets weird at night,” Dean says. “He’s kind of retarded. Sorry about that.”

He slaps Castiel’s head like a big brother would. “Who you calling, numbnuts?”

“Just, um…”

“Whoever it is, you can use my phone. Thanks.” Dean smiles for the receptionist and squeezes Castiel’s neck on the death march to his car.

Dean unlocks the passenger’s side and shoves Cas inside. The parking lot is practically empty. Beyond the parking lot is dark and the road. Cas could run, but then what? He doesn’t even know where they are.

Dean starts the car. “You behave.”

He drives in silence. No music. No long-ass speech. No questions or fussing. Just the tires on the asphalt and the furious rumble beneath Cas’ seat, the buzz against his sore hole.

Silent Dean is ten times scarier than fussing Dean, or Dean who slaps him. Silent Dean pulls onto the side of a road without lights or buildings.

Cas should have run at the motel. Now his only defense is trees and darkness.

“Do I have to worry about you?” Dean asks.

Cas fights back tears and shakes his head.

“Castiel, I need to hear words coming out of your mouth right now,” Dean whispers. “Very specific words.”

Does he want an apology? An explanation? A promise?

“I’m not... not going to tell anyone.”

Dean drops his face onto the steering wheel.

“I didn’t want to have to do this again.” Dean’s eyes look black in the night, his face full of sorrow. “Not with you.”

He opens his door, sighs and says, “Fuck it.”

As Dean’s boots click toward the trunk, Castiel locks his door, slides over and locks Dean’s, too. Then he stretches his leg and punches the gas.

The engine cuts out. Dean bangs on the trunk and yells.

Shit.

It’s a manual.

Fists bombard the windows.

Dean’s threats escalate from mere vows to kill Cas to specific details on how. Did he say flay or filet? Neither sounds good.

Castiel stops hyperventilating and thanks Fuck for Jerry. Against his mother’s wishes, good ol’ Jerry had shown Cas the basics of operating a stick shift. If Jerry was here, Castiel would kiss him. Not the nasty way Dean did it, but in a good, nice, clean way, on his scruffy cheek.

Cas steps on the clutch and turns the key. The engine springs to life. With a pledge of his first born child to the patron saint of Chevys, Cas shifts into first gear and balances his feet between clutch and gas.

Baby lurches forward and Castiel shouts.

Prematurely.

The engine groans and grinds its teeth.

“Come on. Please. Please.”

It car shuts off and Castiel spits a curse. Gears. Right. The engine was asking for second gear. The car starts again but Cas struggles to coax her forward at all this time.

How far from Dean did he get? A mile? More? Less?

Cas squints into the gloom around him. Dean must be running like Satan. Once he catches up, Cas is a deviled egg. He can always sit in the car and pray another car passes before Dean. That would mean putting on the hazard lights, which would make him even more visible.

Cas shuts off the car and all of her lights. It’s better to stay inside, right? Dean might bang his fists, but he’ll never hurt his baby - the chrome one. Then again, a cracked window is easily repaired.

Breathing hard, Castiel opens the driver’s door. Still alone in the dark, but how long? He tosses the keys into the dry leaves and bolts between the trees.

This isn’t city night, with its constant streetlamp glow. There isn’t even the kindness of a silvered moon or its pet stars. Just endless, rural dark amplifying the sounds of night creatures and reducing Castiel to whimpers.

He runs, tripping over roots, flying forward, skinning knees and sobbing with his hands out like an already dead thing, back to life.

Someone grabs his shirt. Cas unleashes a pitiful scream and a trickle of piss. His underpants are already caked with blood. He strikes out in helpless self-defense, then nearly faints with gratitude when the branch lets him go.

A dozen times, Castiel stops to grip his knees and fill his lungs. He could call out for Dean and end this quickly. His death is in the wilderness, one way or the other. Wolfed down by some beasts, or hidden in a shallow grave. When they find Castiel, there’ll be nothing but brittle bones.

He stumbles on, blinks through tears, dries his face with dirty palms.

And there, tiny and distant, but real, a flickering light grows into the steady shine of a back porch lamp. He could kiss the grass but doesn’t waste the time.

Castiel staggers onto the street, yelping out loud. Lady Luck has led him through the woods and dumped him three blocks from the manor.


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel’s feet carry themselves, which is fortunate because there’s sand in his tank. It’s not that he’s hungry. His insides are filled with grime and grit. It’s a miracle when he drags himself between the lions at the gate and up the horseshoe driveway.

Maybe Castiel should tell. Not all the disgusting details about why his ass aches. But he could say, “Dean Winchester did something to me. Something wrong and dirty.”

And Roman will avenge him. Kill Dean. Or do the same awful things to him while Castiel watches. Will that fix it?

Castiel reemerges from his revenge fantasy to pat his pockets. No keys. He’ll have to ring the bell. Roman will open. Cas will fall into his arms and blurt out everything that happened. Then he’ll sleep for a week.

Then again, Castiel liked the kissing and some of the touching. He let Dean do those things.

A branch snaps. A shadow shifts and a shotgun lands in the grass with a quiet clank. Stark white against the night, Dick Roman leaps from a tree - a naked superhero, in black rubber boots.

Castiel staggers back clutching his chest. Roman’s face reads bloody vengeance as he grabs Castiel’s hair and drags him to the house with the rifle hanging from his other hand. Castiel cries and clutches Roman’s wrist to keep from being scalped.

Inside the door, Roman kicks off his boots and waits for Cas to do the same. Then, he hauls Castiel up the stairs, into a bedroom with Burgundy walls.

A huge, four-poster bed dominates the space, holding court over other antique furnishings. The real centerpiece is the assortment of silver and wooden tools on the bed. Castiel’s head spins too fast to take inventory, but he identifies a few guns and knives before Roman puts him on his knees and jostles off his shirt.

Roman knows. Instead of punishing Dean, he’s going to discipline Castiel. Or maybe, if Roman takes him that way, fucks Cas, it’ll cancel Dean out.

Castiel drops his hands and stops fighting. He kneels, eye to eye with the shaft that made him. Maybe. If Roman is his father.

The lean muscles in Roman’s stomach roll as he rips Castiel’s shirt to strips. Cas shivers with each long, loud tear of the fabric. It isn’t cold in the room, but his skin is a plague of goosebumps, his nipples are pebbles.

Roman creates a pile of rags. He could keep Cas up all night scrubbing the house. Whatever he chooses, Cas will obey. He deserves the worst. He knew Dean was evil and he went along with everything.

Castiel raises his face and awaits sentencing.

Roman sings as he covers Castiel’s eyes with the first rag:

_O be careful little eyes what you see_

_There's a Father up above_

_And He's looking down in love_

He binds Cas hands.

_O be careful little hands what you do_

Castiel’s teeth chatter, his bones knock together. Roman squeezes his jaw and stuffs in a bar of soap. Before Cas can spit it out, Roman ties a final strip of cloth around his mouth. He grabs Castiel by the shoulders and tosses him against a wall.

 

***

 

Castiel lays on the floor, shivering and waiting for his breath to steady. He wiggles onto his side and brings his bound hands over his feet, still tied but in front rather than the base of his spine.

He lowers the gag, spits out the soap and paws at his numb tongue. Then he frees his eyes, but it makes no difference. Castiel is blind.

His pulse rises as his groping hands discover that he’s in a locker or some kind of cabinet. Castiel frees his ankles, but no matter how he twists his arms and bites at the fabric, he can’t loosen the final bond around his wrists.

He could try the doorknob. If it’s unlocked and Roman is out there, there will be more trouble. Castiel wraps his arms around his legs, rests his face on his knees.

Freedom is a luxury; his body needs sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> multimedia moment: https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=109349611  
> Here’s the scene that inspired this entire fic and is the blueprint for this chapter. Kyler Moss with his ‘daddy’

_The door squeaks open. Castiel is blind again, his eyes bound in a different material. Where there was soap, a rubber ball depresses Castiel’s tongue. Each of his sore nipples is clamped. A leash has sprouted from a collar around Castiel’s neck. His father takes firm hold and leads Cas to the bed._

_Castiel struggles against the line. His father shoves him face first, tugs Castiel’s underwear down around his ass and administers due discipline. The first sting of the paddle snaps sharply on his skin. Castiel only moans but never fights._

_Castiel salivates around the foreign object in his mouth. His jaw aches and his shouts are swallowed, resonating off the roof of his mouth. His father loosens and tosses away the rubber ball gag._

_Now, Castiel grits his teeth to hold in the screams. He wants to behave, but can’t help straightening his back and trying to escape from the relentless spanking. His father pushes him down and holds Cas’ balled fists out of the way of the paddle._

_Finally, the punishment ends and Castiel allows himself a sigh of relief. Too soon. The whipping comes again but on the other cheek. When his father decides it’s over, the paddle thuds on the mattress._

_He flips Castiel onto his back and the boy thrashes, angling for a position that saves his tender skin from contact with the blanket. But Cas stops worrying about comfort when his father straddles his chest and slaps his cheek with his cock._

_He drives into Castiel’s mouth, filling him and sinking too deep. His father’s fingers are in his hair, dragging him forward while he plunges deeper still. Castiel chokes and his father moans._

_Castiel’s pain gives him pleasure._

_“Fuck, yeah, Cas,” he says, speaking with Dean’s voice._

_Castiel tries to open wider. Strains to take more. His father draws out and Castiel keens to have him back. He holds out his tongue for a reward. His father slaps it and whispers his praise._

_Castiel cranes and stretches to taste him, to kiss, to draw more satisfied grunts. His father offers his balls for Cas to lick and suck. The fingers in his hair curl tighter, pull him closer._

_His father drops onto his hands and thrusts into Castiel’s already raw throat forcing tears from his eyes. There’s a moment of reprieve when Cas is rolled onto his belly to have his cuffs removed. Then his father hops back up and fucks his face again._

_“Suck it. Come on. Suck it.”_

_Castiel tries to obey. He braces himself and hums through the onslaught. His face, his throat filled and brimming with his spit and slime. Cas coughs and accepts a greedy kiss._

_This should be disgusting. Castiel should fight. He should cry, but all he wants is more sweet torture._

_Full of mercy, his father peels away the blindfold. Castiel blinks and rubs his eyes until his father pins his hands above his head._

_Castiel’s hips rise to find pressure, but his father hovers out of reach._

_“You want it?”_

_Castiel whines._

_“Do you want it, boy?”_

_“Yes, Dad.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Please, yes."_

_But greedy, little Castiel only receives more cock in his mouth. Too much cock. Never enough. His father reaching, exceeds, and expands what Cas can take. Another kiss and the greatest prize: “Good boy.”_

_Castiel’s heart flutters. He grasps his father’s shaft as his dad reaches back to insert a finger into Cas. He swivels his hips for more._

_“Go deeper.”_

_Castiel’s body writhes and burns, sweats, and trembles with yearning. His father vaults to the floor, yanks him to the edge of the bed and pushes into him. Castiel moans, his stomach clenching as his hole strives to accommodate the invasion. His father is doing what Dean did, so where’s the pain and the blood?_

_Before Cas can adjust, his father plants Cas' ankles on his shoulders and lifts him from the bed. All he can do is hold tight to his father’s neck and cry out, marveling at how deep he is inside. It’s everything at once: cruelty, kindness, agony, and affection._

_Eventually, his father drops him back onto the mattress, pins his knees out of the way and enters him again. This way is easier. Castiel closes his eyes as his father’s hands close around the collar, choking and fucking until black spots cloud the edges of Cas’ vision._

_His father tosses him to the center of the bed, holds his legs askew and fucks harder and faster as if Castiel were created only for this purpose. He relents his breakneck pace only to drive in to flip Cas back onto his hands and knees, yanking hips and the hair. Growling praise and profanity._

_Cas jerks himself until the room begins to twirl. It spins and just as Castiel is sure he’ll be dizzy and sick, Jerry appears at the side of the bed, watching. Rather than try to make Castiel’s father stop, he opens his pants and starts beating off._

_John Winchester is beside him, doing the same thing - a savage and beautiful caveman smile carved into his beard. Pretty soon, they’re surrounded by a crowd of men: Castiel’s third-grade gym teacher, his mom’s old boss, any guy who was ever nice to Cas, or had dark hair, or storm blue eyes. Any guy whoever could have been his dad._

_Above Castiel’s head, an old man peels down his zipper, reveals a shriveled, sickly half erection. He drops his saggy balls onto Castiel’s face, pries at his mouth with scaly claw-fingers. Castiel closes his eyes, resists. He opens them again when something heavy falls on his chest._

_The old man’s headless body jerks, dripping warm blood onto Castiel’s face._

_Before Cas can scream or look away, all of their heads topple. Every man, one by one._

_Castiel blinks and he is laying on the Winchester’s table, bound hand to foot on a huge silver platter. Mary Winchester smiles like an angel and pours warm gravy over Castiel’s face and into his hair._

_At the head of the table, Dean sits with a knife and a fork singing, with Roman’s voice bellowing from the wrong mouth:_

In that great getting up morning, fare thee well, fare thee well

_He stacks Castiel’s hands on his plate. Then he places the cold, sharp point of his knife in the center and begins to pierce._

  



	17. Chapter 17

When Castiel’s eyes snap open, he’s on his belly with his arms stretched above his head, hands stacked, palm skyward.

He blinks to get his bearings and discovers himself laying on a plank. From this vantage, he sees only the tip of the spike as Roman holds it in place in the center of Castiel’s hand. From his position, Cas cannot see what is in Roman’s other hand, the one rising above his head.

Battling dragons is a waste of energy for squires, but sometimes, there’s no choice. Cas could have reveled in the final moments of his half-daze, but his curiosity and fear spikes with an adrenaline rush. 

Without thinking, Castiel lunges and knocks Roman off balance, onto his back. A hammer falls from his hand onto his face, granting Castiel the split second to spring onto the man’s chest, screaming and scratching at him with his bound hands like a feral animal. 

Roman knocks him aside and Castiel’s head bangs the board where he awakened. The impact dizzies Cas, but his bound hands land an inch from the hammer. As Roman leaps at him, Cas clasps the handle, sits up and swings hard enough to make Jerry proud.

The business end of the hammer strikes Roman’s tender temple and knocks him to the ground with his legs draped over Castiel’s. Panting, Cas scrambles to his feet. The hammer dangles between his hands. 

He’s seen enough movies to know that if he runs without finishing the job, a vengeful Dick Roman will haunt him the rest of his life. Castiel raises the hammer over his head and with a primal scream, he lets gravity do the work of cracking his father’s skull.

The nothing in Castiel’s stomach splashes against his ribs and makes a bitter reappearance as he spits up on Roman’s chest - the final indignity. Cas tosses the hammer onto the bed amid a gut-curdling assortment of tools and weapons. He takes the smallest gun and flees the room. 

He can’t stay in this house with this dead body. And while he could call the police, he did just kill somebody. At best, they’ll take him away. At worst, he's prison-bound. Then Cas will never find out what happened to his mother and he’ll have nobody. There’s only one person who can help him.


	18. Chapter 18

Shirtless and sprinkled in Dick Roman’s blood, Castiel stumbles on prickling legs, begrudgingly waking after hours of disuse. He stops in the kitchen to splash  his face and hands and watch, mesmerized as the reddened water raced down the drain. He holds a serrated knife between his teeth and saw through the bindings on his wrists. Purple bruises remain as souvenirs. 

On his way out of the front door, Cas grabs one of Roman’s trench coats - a beige one - as much to protect against the autumn chill as for the deep pockets.  If Dean crosses his path, Cas will put as many bullets in him as his gun holds.

At the door, he raises a hand against the harsh sun. His only choice is to step outside, close and lock the door behind him.  He slogs on leaden legs, his jeans clinging and chafing. He stinks: unwashed pits, ass and piss. 

He was in that closet overnight, at least, which would make it mid-day on a Sunday. Cas will hardly be welcome in a church. As he drags his feet, the trench coat trails the ground behind him, like crushed wings. He shoves his hands into the pockets, clutches the gun’s handle.  After an hour of mindless trudging, he finds himself in the school parking lot.

All the cars make no sense, unless it’s Monday. That would mean Roman kept him locked up for over 24 hours. Castiel lumbers over the field past the students running laps and into the building. 

There’s only one person who might understand and will know what to do next. If anything Dean said is true, Castiel needs to find Jo. 

She’d fought off Dean and her own father. She’s Castiel’s only hope. The bell

wails overhead and Castiel winces with his hands over his ears. Classes empty, spilling chattering kids into the hall around him.

Children. Cas will never be one again. Some of them wear larger bodies, but none has tasted the wicked shit Castiel has waded through to get here. Except maybe Jo. She might understand. She has to, or Cas is lost.

The children swirl around him, nonsense and mumblings swells into laughter, pointed fingers and cruel stares. Savage acned faces swarm like sneering demons. Among them, a pair of familiar blank eyes, peer back with kindness or pity. 

Felix. Cassie’s brother, who Dean had killed in forest and resurrected with a kick to the ribs.

The others jeer and tug on Cas’ jacket, but only one of them is his enemy. Felix must have known the monster that lurks behind that angel’s face. Felix knew and should have warned him.

Castiel grips his gun. If he was certain how to use it, he’d have already emptied it in Felix’s face. Should have let Dean show him how. 

“Hey, girl.” Jo shoves through the crowd, golden hair flowing around her righteous, angry face as she shoves Castiel and yells, “Where the fuck have you been? I had to finish that piece of shit fort by myself.”

That fort isn’t due until Wednesday. 

“You fucking space cadet.” Jo pushes him again. “You’re lucky I don’t beat your little ass.” 

The onlookers double in number and ferocity. Some watch with quiet hungry eyes. A few dare Jo to strike. Someone pushes her into Cas. Panic flicks in her brown eyes before her fist flies.

Cas’ head strikes the locker with a deafening clank. He should have let Dean end him. This is all wrong. All wrong, but no choice remains but to defend himself. He holds the gun at the end of a straight and trembling arm. 

Jo and the children leap back as one collective body. They scatter in a glorious mass of screams, so ridiculous Castiel laughs out loud. Such a small thing, so much power.

First, he aims the gun at Jo. Then, he seeks out Felix. There’s the boy who coined the name Asstiel. How many bullets? It’s vital information, so Castiel can use all but one. At least six means five, but Cas must spend them wisely. He chases the name-calling bastard three paces, points at his back and pulls the trigger. 

Click

Castiel pulls down that thing in the back, like he’s seen in a million movies. He tries the trigger again. 

Click. 

Cock.

Click.

Cock.

Click. 

Castiel screams his frustration. His shoulders slump in defeat as he pockets the gun and flees past the main office. He knocks over the security guard as he flees through the double doors.


	19. Chapter 19

Cas sneaks through people’s yards and steals a too-big t-shirt from a clothesline. Sirens shout in the distance as he balls Roman’s jacket into a bundle around the gun and crouches beneath bushes until there's silence again.

Looking for Jo was a disaster. Castiel punches himself in the head. A big, dumb, stupid mistake who never should have been born. 

Nowhere to go. Can’t protect, or even kill himself with an empty gun. Could maybe leave town if he had his bike.

It’s his only chance.

The Winchester’s driveway is free and clear of cars. The kids are in school. Men at work. The only question is whether Mrs. Winchester works outside of the home. If she catches him, Cas will explain that he needs his bike. That’s all.

She can’t know about Roman or what happened at the school yet. It’ll be on the news tonight, but right now, she doesn’t know that Castiel is a fugitive.

He makes it to the shed, but the damn thing is padlocked.

“Fuck.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that, baby.”

Castiel freezes, heart tripping as he unravels the coat and turns around.

“You hurt me, Castiel,” Dean says. “You really broke my heart. And now you’re going to come steal from me?”

“My bike.” Castiel clears his throat so the words can get out. “I just want my bike.”

“Your bike is at your house. I dropped it off two days ago,” Dean sneers through a haze of smoke. “You’re welcome.”

“What?”

“Your crazy old man wheeled it —”

“He’s not my dad!”

“Watch your fucking tone.”

Cas bows his head as Dean steps nearer. He cringes, waiting for a slap, or something worse.

“You got your car back?” he squeaks the question as a peace offering.

“No thanks to you, little shit.”

“I didn’t hurt it or anything.” If that’s true, maybe Dean will let him live.

“Actually, the transmission is all jacked up.” Dean flicks his cigarette onto the concrete. “Why did you run?”

“You were going to kill me.”

“I wasn’t going to... you little idiot.”

Castiel steps back. “You were going to drag me into the woods—”

“And scare the shit out of you so you didn’t squeal.”

Dean yanks the scruff of the stolen shirt and Castiel easily slips free of the loose fabric. Before he can escape the yard, Dean lunges, catches him around the middle and cups a hand over Cas' mouth.

“I’m going to —”

Castiel bites his palm. Dean shouts and drops him. As Cas scrambles through the gate, Dean captures him again, hoists Cas onto his shoulder and carries the unwilling sack of potatoes into the house.

He tosses Castiel onto the sofa and blocks the door, but with his hands open to show he means no harm. When Castiel takes the moment to collect his breath, Dean examines the gash in his palm.

“You little asshole.”

Dean sucks on the wound.

Castiel could try to run again. Where has it ever gotten him? He can keep fighting his fate, or he can accept it. Dean Winchester is his death. Better to die Dean’s way than Roman’s, with all that weirdo’s bells and whistles and a spike in his palms.

Dean peers under his lashes. “Guess you don’t like me anymore?” 

“You’re just… scary.”

Dean subdues a smile. “What if I try not to be scary? You think I could …”

Castiel draws up his shoulders as Dean crosses the room, eases onto the sofa beside him, drawing a finger across Cas' bare collarbone.

“You can breathe, you know?”

Cas lets out a loud exhale.

“That feel good?”

If Cas admits it, he’ll be giving Dean permission to do nasty things to him again. “Stop it, please.”

Dean bites his lip, sighs and withdraws his hand to his lap. He waits a few seconds, then cups a hand around Castiel’s neck and kisses his cheek.

“Listen,” Dean says. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I… maybe got carried away. I’m sorry. Okay?”

It’s not okay. It’s never going to be okay. Cas could bite Dean’s tongue and make sure he knows that. But instead, he lets it sweep across his lip, penetrate his mouth and take his body’s mind off the tension and dread that must be Castiel’s birthright.

 

***

 

Dean kisses his cheek, his chin, his nose, and forehead. He kneels between Cas’ trembling knees and wipes the hair from his eyes. His nose wrinkles.

“Did you piss yourself?”

Cas looks away.

“What the hell happened, Cas? Roman hurt you?”

That’s just the thing. Roman did not hurt him. He may have planned to, but Roman had not hurt him and Castiel killed him.

“Listen, man. Dads ain't shit.”

“He’s not my father.”

Dean leaves the room. Castiel glances at the front door but doesn’t budge. He sits with his hands between his knees and his chin tucked to his chest.

Dean returns, offers a hand and once Castiel decides to take it, he leads him to the steamed up bathroom. He kneels again, slides off Cas’ crusty pants and underwear. Lets him ease into the too-warm water. Castiel closes his eyes as Dean scrubs his hair, washes soft circles on his back and paints suds on his chest. 

When the water is cold and Castiel’s lips are purple, Dean wraps him in a soft beach towel, dries him, pats his face and limbs. Then he brings Cas to his tiny bedroom and tucks him in. There isn’t space for them to lay shoulder to shoulder in the twin bed and the bed barely fits within the walls. The room fits like a cocoon.

“You hungry?”

Castiel doesn’t remember the last time he ate. Dean’s reminder about the existence of food strikes his empty gut like a punch. Cas nods and lets his eyes slip shut. If this is a trick, so be it.

Something touches his lips. He purses them shut and opens his eyes.

“You want orange instead?”

Castiel opens, accepts the apple slices along with Dean’s wordless strokes of his damp hair.

 

***

 

When Cas stirs from his dreamless sleep, Dean is laying behind him, arms fastened tight, hot breath on his neck. Castiel tries to keep his movements imperceptible in case Dean is sleeping, but he needs to touch himself. His cock is so hard it’s killing him.

Dean kisses his neck and brushes his hand over Castiel’s problem. Then Dean’s hips shift, slow and easy as he presses his boner to Castiel’s ass.

Cas freezes and tries to steady his breath. Not again. The door is right there. He tries to break free.

Dean shushes him, his body rolling like the ocean. His face in Castiel’s hair, pawing Cas’ chest until both of their breath is loud and labored. He climbs on top of Cas and kisses his skin electrified, insides jellied. 

“Can I?”

Castiel knows what Dean is asking, but not what to answer.

“Cas, can I be inside you? Please?”

Castiel grits his teeth and nods. Dean rolls away from him anyway, teasing now. Torturing him. That’s the punishment for running away. He’ll never touch Castiel again.

“Dean, please.”

Dean rolls onto his back, rubbing on some shiny stuff. He rolls Cas onto his stomach and applies cold glop between his cheeks, pressing a finger to his hole, massaging for a moment before sliding it inside.

Cas knows it’s coming, but he gasps anyway.

“You got to breathe, kiddo. And don’t clench like that,” Dean says. “Makes it worse.”

So, Castiel breathes as normally he can, wills himself to relax. It still burns at first and he has that weird needing-to-shit sensation. But after a while it’s nice. Really nice. Kind of amazing, actually. Castiel shuts his eyes and lets Dean take his time, working him open.

As Dean aligns himself, Cas bites his lip, grips Dean’s arm, but he doesn’t struggle.

“Just relax, baby.”

Castiel nods. This time when he lets out a deep breath, Dean pushes into him. Cas whimpers through the sting and stretch.

“That’s good, baby. So good.” Dean grips his hip. “Almost there.”

One more breath and Dean is filling him.

“Holy shit, Castiel.”

Dean stills, but his hand clamps bruising tight around Cas' waist.

“Fuck.”

Dean swells within him and moans.

“I’m not going to fucking last.”

Dean pounds and Castiel clutches the sheets until Dean finds his hand and slides their fingers together.

“I never want to hurt you, Cas,” he says. “I want to take care of you.”

Castiel shouts, exploding into the mattress only moments before Dean releases into him, slips his arms under Castiel’s neck and whispers, “God, I love you, little boy.”

Castiel smiles and shudders as Dean kisses his ear, then blows a tickly raspberry on his neck.


	20. Chapter 20

After the third time, Dean flops onto his back and sighs. Castiel paws his raw hole and grins. It’s how it always should have been. He never should have struggled, never should have fought.

From now on, he bows to Dean’s authority and his unbending love that will shatter Cas into a million pieces, and put him back together again.

“So, what the hell did you do?” Dean asks cleaning himself with a baby wipe.

Castiel yawns. “What are you talking about?”

“Why are they looking for you, Cas? Why is the police scanner all lit up like Christmas?”

Suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe.

Dean opens the app on his phone and reads"

Suspect Name: Castiel Roman

Age: 13

Ethnicity: Caucasian.

Hair: Brown.

Eyes: Blue.

“I’d say your hair was more black,” Dean says. “Cute pic, though. Adorable little shit, aren’t you? Suspect armed, dangerous and potentially mentally unstable.”

They must have found the body. Castiel sits upright and clutches his throat, but he still can’t breathe. His throat is closing. He’s going to cry. There’s no avoiding it. Dean is going to see him cry.

“Why…” Castiel stutters. “Why didn’t you say something before now?”

All this time, he was letting Dean stick it in him, he could have been running. He could be out of town by now.

“They’re not looking for you here. See?” Dean shows him the concentration of cars at the school. “So what did you do?”

Castiel bows his head.

“Look, I get local alerts. When I saw it was you, let’s just say I got sick at work. Spent an hour circling the damn school.”

“How did you know I’d come here?”

“I didn’t know. Hoped,” Dean smiles. “Cas, you can tell me.”

Castiel bites his lip. “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth. No lies.”

“I will never lie to you, Castiel.” Dean cups Cas’ ear, green eyes piercing deep enough to see whatever's hidden. 

“So, you’ll tell me the truth, and then I’ll tell you what I did.”

Dean throws up three fingers for scout’s honor, although it’s doubtful that he was ever a scout.

“Did you kill that kid? Felix and Cassie’s brother? Did you kill him?”

“Flip. His name was Phillip.” He drops the grin and looks away. “And it was an accident. Felix knows it as well as I do. That’s why he doesn’t tell. Sometimes shit just goes all the way wrong.”

“Exactly! That’s what happened to me.”

“No way you  —”

“Didn’t mean to. Shit went wrong and he ...”

“Who?” Dean blinks. “Roman? Shit. Cas, that… No, wait. That can’t be right. All the cars are at the school.”

They check the app again. More cars have since been added, but all of them at the same location.

“That’s more than we’ve got in town. If you did what I think you did, protocol is lockdown. And they’re not going to open it until they find you, which is beautiful.” Dean smiles, which is beautiful. “My folks are probably over there, so we got all kinds of time, but we still want to be careful.”

Dean sits still for a moment. He holds up a hand when Castiel tries to speak. Then he nods and dresses in under a minute, urging Cas to get off his ass and meet him in the next room.

“What are we—”

“You’re going to let me drive, Castiel,” Dean says.

“Okay, I will, but can you just tell me what the plan is?”

“The plan is you trust me, and I take care of you.”


	21. Chapter 21

Castiel frowns at the clown girl in the mirror. He wipes off half the lipstick Dean slathered on his mouth and takes down the ponytail.

“It’s not going to work.”

“Can you do better?”

“It’s just…” Cas sighs. “How long are you going to leave me there?”

“I told you.” Dean massages his shoulders. “Just a couple days. Until I get my check. Then we can get out of here.”

“I hate that place, Dean.”

“I know, but you go like this, stay in the room, they’ll never find you.”

Unless Dean turns him in. But why would he do that? Because he’s Dean Winchester and he has it out for Cas.

“Come on,” Dean says. “Look, all I got to do is figure out how to get you there. Baby’s still in the shop and it’s going to be suspicious as fuck for me to just show up and take her out. They've all seen me with you.”

Castiel shakes his head and fusses with the fluffy pink sweater, pulling it down to cover his midriff.

Dean smacks his arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll work it out.”

He leaves the room to gather supplies.

The jeans are actually pretty good. Cas admires his ass in Jo’s mirror, but his blood freezes when he hears Mr. Winchester in the other room shouting, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, John.”

There’s a loud crack that must be a slap. Dean stops talking so abruptly that Cas can’t help sneaking a peek through the door to be sure he’s okay. Mr. Winchester’s eyes flick over then back to Dean. Castiel ducks out of sight.

“I saw the girl,” he says. “And that sure ain’t Cassie.”

“What… oh.”

“Look, we had the same idea, didn’t we, son?” Mr. Winchester says. “Why is it so wrong when I —”

“Because you’re married,” Dean shrieks. “To my mother.”

The thud that follows makes Cas flinch away from the door. A series of grunts and crashing of breaking furniture is punctuated by a woman’s scream. There’s a final thump and Dean calls out, “Cas, get your ass in here. Bring all that Sephora crap.”

Castiel dumps Jo’s makeup back into her carrying case and pauses at the door before he enters the living room. For a split second, it looks like Dean is holding his mother by her ponytail, but it’s not Mrs. Winchester at all.

“You’re a lucky little bastard, you know that?” Dean shoves the woman at Cas. “Fix his face. Then, you can go.”

“Is this… Are you Dick Roman’s son?” she asks.

Castiel winces and says, “No.”

“They’re all looking for you.”

“Hurry up,” Dean says. “Cas, you want oranges, or apples, or both?”

He steps over something, drawing Castiel’s eyes to the floor where Mr. Winchester lays with a cleaver sticking from his chest.

“He was an asshole,” Dean says and gestures to the woman. “As you can plainly see.”

She dusts something on Castiel’s face, all the while trying to make meaningful eye contact. Castiel understands, all right. She wants him to help her escape. Distract Dean, or battle him, or something stupid like that.

Cas gives a small shake of his head. She begs with her eyes and brushes color onto his cheek.

“That’s really good.” Dean smiles standing behind his father’s girlfriend. “You look beautiful, baby. Now, stand up. Get out of the way, so you don’t get dirty.”

The moment Castiel stands, Dean slices the woman’s throat. She gurgles and clutches and slumps back on the sofa in a growing flood of so much blood Castiel tosses his apples in her lap.

Dean shrugs. “She knew who you were.”

He pulls on a pair of latex gloves, wipes down the handles of each knife, leaving the one in his father’s ribcage and dropping the other near the make-up artist.

Dean smooths Cas' hair with one hand. In the other, he jingles a set of keys.

On their way out of the door, he says, “My mom is going to hate this mess.” 


	22. Chapter 22

On the way to Mr. Winchester’s Range Rover, Castiel stops for the bundle he dropped it in the backyard. He clutches Roman’s trench coat and the gun, but it's a pseudo-security blanket that doesn’t stop his shivering. Even in the backseat under the pile of blankets Dean put over him, there's cold seeping out of his bones.

“Anybody pulls us over, you’re sleep, got it?” Dean repeats. “Castiel?”

“I got it. God.”

What he has are the chills. And that image on repeat in his brain. Only, instead of that blonde woman, he sees his mother with her hands and chest splattered in blood. Eyes wide and desperate for the last breath that won't come through her severed windpipe.

Is that what happened to her?

It could be, couldn’t it?

Castiel squeezes his eyes tighter.

_That last day at his old school, his classmates had hooted, assuming he was in trouble when the principal called him out of class. Instead, Mrs. Jordan sat him down, introduced the beautiful, well-dressed lady as representative of his father’s estate._

_This was before Cas even knew he had a father._

_Of course, he knew, but if he’d ever dreamed he’d meet the man, it wouldn’t have been like this._

_Representative. Estate. At the time, he hadn't even known what to make of those words._

_“There’s been an accident,” Meg explained. “Thankfully, your mother had the foresight to have my boss notified in the case of her incapacitation.”_

_What the heck did that mean? Incapacitation._

_The principal nodded and frowned like it was a sad, but perfectly normal situation. Cas should thank his lucky stars, collect his bag and ride off in this strange lady’s Town Car. After all, there was a signed letter._

_On the ride, Meg even let Cas listen to a recorded message on her phone._

_“Hey, buddy,” His mom’s voice was crackly like she’d been crying or was in pain. “Castiel, this is Mom.”_

_Why’d she have to say that? Like he wouldn’t know who she was._

_“Something’s… Something’s happened. You behave for your father, okay. Just be a good boy. I love you.”_

_Another weird sound from his mother and Meg stopped the audio._

_Cas stared and blinked, but she never really came into focus. Under her makeup, Meg painted on one of those sorry-not-sorry smiles grownups wear when they want you to swallow their unsalted bullshit without a hiccup._

_“Can I call her?” Cas asked. “Can I talk to her?”_

_“Afraid not,” Meg said. “But your father is very eager to meet you.”_

_She wouldn’t let him stop back at the apartment and get his things. He’d have all new things. His father would provide. His father would take care of him._

“Stop!”

Cas sits upright in the back seat.

“Stop,” he yells again. “Stop. We need to go back to the manor.”

“Get down, Castiel. There’s no way in hell. Are you crazy?”

Cas clings to Dean’s seat and reaches around, pats his chest. “We need to go back.”

This is the last time he’ll ever be in this town. His last chance to find out where his mother is. To learn the truth of why he's here, even if it means risking everything. 

“Please.”

“Castiel, at some point, the cops are going to show up there,” Dean says. “If they haven’t already. There might be a few minute’s delay on the app.”

“I have to.”

Dean doesn’t even slow down.

“How much money do you make?” Castiel asks. It’s a Hail Mary and it has to work. “How much do you have in your paycheck and saved up?”

“Enough.” Dean pushes his head so he’ll sink back out of sight. “You just don’t want to stay at the motel alone.”

“No. That’s not it. I know where there’s more,” Cas says. “A lot more. Like, a stash. A safe.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, but Cas can tell, he's considering it. “How much?”

“Like, a lot. I didn’t count it,” Cas’ voice raises with the stakes of his tale. “At least a couple thousand. Like, five. That would help, wouldn’t it? We could go through the woods. If there’s cops, we leave it.”

Dean is silent. Still thinking.

“Just park near where you found your Baby last time and we’ll go through that way.”

“On foot?”

“You can trust me too, Dean.”


	23. Chapter 23

Castiel is buzzing. His insides churning, but it’s excitement, not fear. How can he be afraid as long as Dean is on his side? If there are any cops at the manor, Castiel is afraid for them.

He pulls Roman’s gun from under his sweater. “Will you show me how to use this?”

“So, you _are_ armed and dangerous?” Dean snatches it. “And you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Lying includes omissions, half-truths, and white lies,” Dean says, examining the weapon. “I’m honest with you, you be honest with me. From here out, yeah?”

Castiel nods and grabs a fistful of Dean’s jacket.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

If Dean shoots a cop, he’ll get the death penalty. If Dean gets the death penalty, Castiel is alone. Dean is a vital organ now. A heart or both lungs. Life without him doesn’t seem possible anymore. 

“Just be careful.”

Dean smiles and takes his gun. “You don’t need this. Just stay behind me. I got you.”

Dean has Castiel. Cas has Dean. Everything will be okay. No matter what happens, as long as they stay together, everything will be okay.

They could just go. His mom is gone. It doesn’t matter where. She turned Cas over to that freak, Roman. Maybe even sold him.

Would she do that?

Whoever knows what anybody would do?

Cas is not a Roman. He’s not even a Novak anymore. He’ll have to use a different name. He and Dean both will. Maybe they’ll use the same last name and be brothers as long as they need to, as long as Cas is still too young.

Then they can be everything and let everyone know it, everywhere but in this dumb town.

They move fast, crouched low. The sun is nearly set and the house lights are already burning on the other side of the forest when Castiel grabs Dean’s arm again and says, “Let’s just leave.”

“No, you were right,” Dean says. “A few grand will keep us going a little longer. Get us to Mexico, maybe.”

“Canada’s closer.”

“Mexico’s warmer.” Dean pats his cheek and smiles.

“Fine. Let’s just go.” Castiel pulls him back toward the car. “Vamanos, right?”

“Baby, we’re going to get that money.”

“It’s not worth it. If the cops—”

“Don’t you worry about the cops. Didn’t I say I got you?”

How can Cas explain that there isn’t any money? Or there might be, but Castiel doesn’t know where. Technically, Cas said that before Dean laid down the law about lies. All Cas has to do is admit it.

“Come on, baby,” Dean is smiling like he swallowed the whole sun and he's ready for the stars. “We got this.”

Then he takes off toward the houses. Castiel runs behind him, whisper-shouting and falling behind.

Fine. They’ll go in the house. Search. Maybe even find a safe. Maybe find some clue about what happened to his mother.

One thing is sure, Castiel isn’t going in that room. Eventually, someone will find Roman's body. His face will be all rotted away with bugs using his nose as a subway tunnel. For all Cas knows, the house is truly haunted now that there’s been a murder in it.

Dean easily scales the back fence. Castiel uses the code. All the statues are upright again, until Dean takes a running leap and kicks one in the chest. He whoops and laughs as it topples.

“Dean, shut up,” Castiel whispers. “Listen, there’s no money. Okay? I lied. I’m sorry. There’s no money. Let’s just go.”

Dean knocks over another monument and doubles over with laughter.

“Even still, there's silver or something, right? No cops, baby. Coast is all the way clear. Five minutes. We’ll grab the good shit and split.”

Dean curls an arm around Castiel’s waist, lifts him from his feet and kisses him. Then he takes off again, leaps up the back stairs.

The door opens, but it’s too late for a warning.

Roman swings his machete and Dean falls like tall grass.

The deep rumble of singing rings out in the darkness, piercing Castiel's spine as he turns to run.

_“_ _Standing in the need of prayer.”_

But he got a glimpse, a nightmare flash of that awful grinning face, caked in dried blood, skull caved-in on the one side, like a Halloween mask.

_“Not my mother, not my father, but it’s me, oh Lord.”_

Nothing can be done for Dean anymore. Castiel wails as he flees.

_“Not my sister, not my brother.”_

He zigs to escape the outreached hand of a fallen statue, stumbles, but keeps running. Still, the voice grows closer.

_“But it’s me, oh Lord.”_

A gunshot rings out behind him. Fire tears through Castiel’s shoulder. He collapses with his face in the dirt.

Roman's singing and his heavy breathing fade like the music at the end of a horror film.

_“Standing_

_in the need_

_of_

 

_prayer.”_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading and stick with this story.  
> I lost steam and rushed through the ending.  
> If you've enjoyed it, stay tuned. I'm going to fix that at some point.


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